Great Expectations
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Set after the war, Roland invites Grace to the party he and his wife are giving to celebrate his son's graduation from Oxford, and it changes all of their lives. Including other characters such as Tom and Kitty Gillan and Colonel Perbright. Rating will go up after a few chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, this is the multi-chapter Grace/Roland story I've been bigging up during my absence, set after the war. I really really hope you like it. The rating will go up in a few chapters tine.**

_Colonel and Lady Roland Brett request the presence of Miss Grace Carter at the celebration of their son Alexander's graduation at their home on the weekend of the 19th of July 1920. You are invited to stay with us for the whole weekend. RSVP._

…**...**

The first thing that surprised Grace as the taxi that brought her from the station crossed into the Brett estate was the sheer scale of the place; the vastness and the greenery of its spaces. A long straight road lead up to the front of an imposingly red-bricked house, lower walls but immaculate in their preservation, and its accompanying ivy. Though country estates in general were going through hard times, the same evidently could not be said of the Brett estate. Leaning forward a little to look out of the window, Grace made out what looked like a pond running down one side of the lawn and a box hedge at the outskirts that seemed to lead on to a wood. When she had received her invitation to stay for the whole weekend, she had been surprised by its generosity. She had not imagined Roland's country house to be anything like as grand as this, and had expected the accommodation to be much more modest than this. A whole regiment could probably have been accommodated in it.

As the taxi approached the front steps, she saw a man at the top of them, evidently waiting. It was Roland, dressed in a grey suit and blue tie. She smiled at him through the window, she was wearing grey too, and he, seeing her, smiled back and came down the steps to meet her.

He opened the door of the taxi, and without delay, gave the driver more than enough for her fair. Opening the back door, he extended his hand to her and helped her out of the car. He stopped briefly to remove her suitcase and place it at her feet and to dismiss the cab before leaning forwards and kissing her on the cheek.

"Grace," he murmured quietly, had anyone been there other than themselves it would have been difficult for them to overhear, "It's so good to see you."

"And you too," she told him sincerely, "Thank you for inviting me."

"The pleasure is all mine," he replied, "Do you need help with your case?"

"No," she answered, "It's not heavy."

He lead her up the steps, turning back to her when they reached the top.

"Come and have tea with me," he told her quietly, "When you're settled into your room. In my study. The maid will let you know where."

"Alright," she replied, equally quietly.

His hand brushed her elbow for a second before he lead her indoors and introduced her to the housemaid, Maisy, who was to show her upstairs.

Her room, when Maisy showed her in, was beyond a doubt the most lavish she had ever been given, or ever imagined she would be given. A bedroom, leading onto a bathroom and a dressing room, each decked out in oak and white satin or marble. Not wanting to wait, and not tired from the journey, she simply removed her hat and coat and left her suitcase neatly at the foot of the double bed and asked Maisy;

"Could you show me to Colonel Brett's study please?"

Maisy took her there and left her outside the door. When his voice told called upon her to enter, she did so.

"I love your hair," was the first thing he said to her. He was standing at the desk pouring out a pot of tea into two saucers.

She flushed a little; she had forgotten he hadn't seen it since she had cut it so that it now stopped midway between her jaw and her shoulders.

"I was sick of it being so long," she told him, a little taken aback, but pleased all the same, "It seems to be quiet the fashion and I thought it might suit me better."

"It does suit you," he confirmed, "Please sit down," indicating towards two leather sofas placed facing one another, with a low oak table between them.

She sat, and he brought their tea, sitting down opposite her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"What?" she asked in reply.

"You look a little out of sorts," he told her, "Do you find me different at home?"

"A little," she admitted, "You didn't act your affluence in France, Roland," she told him, "That wasn't meant to be a criticism in any way," she added quickly, seeing the look that flashed briefly across his face, "I was just surprised."

"It didn't seem like the appropriate thing to do at the time," he replied.

"That didn't stop any of the other officers doing it," she remarked, and he smiled.

"Apart from anything else, this is all inherited, not earned," he told her, "On my side and Hetty's. The house was her father's. As I'm often reminded. She had no brothers."

She took a sip of her tea.

"I'm very glad to have been invited," she told him.

She considered saying that she had missed him, but stopped herself at the last moment.

He smiled nonetheless.

"I wanted to see you," he told her, taking the leap that she had shrunk away from, "We haven't seen each other since the Gillans' wedding."

"I know," she replied.

It had been too long. They both took another drink.

"You know they've a little one on the way now?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, "Kitty Gillan and I have kept in touch."

"Ah, yes, Tom said," he told her, "He is coming this weekend. He should be arriving quite soon, actually."

There was a pause.

"They seem very happy together," she remarked, and then added, impulsively, "Thank God."

"Quite," he agreed with her in a low voice, "Thank God something good came of it all."

Another silence. There was something softer about him, something wounded. He was more relaxed here than he had been in France, not that that was surprising at all, but of that relaxation seemed to be born a wryer, and wittier, stillness in his manner. A sadness and a stillness that she could not help but grieve for in spite of the attractive dryness it brought out in him.

"It's been too long since I've seen you," she told him. He had been kind, and brave, enough to admit that he had missed her, and she owed him something in return, and the quiet smile that flickered across his lips at the words was ample reward for her too.

"I have to admit," he told her, "I was a little nervous about you coming here."

"What on earth for?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"I'm not sure," he repiled honestly, "I think maybe at their wedding I realised I barely-... I don't know. I barely know you socially at all. That's what Hetty would call it. I suppose I had better use her expression, I haven't one of my own."

She did not have a response to that at all except to say, with a frankness she surprised herself with, "I'm a nurse, Roland. I barely even exist socially."

"It wasn't a criticism," he told her, "By any means. I've known your professionally, almost domestically. Personally, for sure. I think they're all infinitely better ways to know someone."

She could feel his eyes fixed on her, and she was trying, trying her utmost, to lift her head and meet his gaze.

"I suppose," he went on, "You could say that I was worried that seeing you socially wouldn't be enough for us."

Her breath caught with the end of his sentence, and she could not stop her eyes from snapping up to meet his. His gaze was unremitting, but he seemed somehow to be waiting. For what? It could only be her. She opened her mouth and expelled her long-captured breath, just as a knock on the door came. She did not miss the look of disappointment on his face as he passed to answer it.

It was Maisy.

"Colonel Perbright is downstairs, sir."

"Where is Lady Harriet?" he asked her.

"Downstairs too. It was her who sent me up, sir."

"Tell her I'll be down within the hour," he told Maisy, "I've just got to finish off the notes on that paper I wanted the Colonel to read."

"Very good, sir."

"Thank you, Maisy."

He closed the study door.

"To proof read only," he emphasised immediately, not having to look at her to know that her eyebrows were raised in surprise at that last exchange, "Out of politeness to an old acquaintance. I've already given it to Tom for a clinical appraisal."

"You still don't trust Perbright's judgement, then?" she asked, a glint in her eye, knowing full well what the answer was.

"No I do not," he replied firmly.

Her smile widened.

"And, before you ask, it wasn't my idea to invite him here, either," he told her.

"I did wonder," she replied, "But I wasn't going to ask."

He let out a sigh.

"I think when Hetty told me to invite some "palls from the army" it was the likes of Perbtight she had in mind."

"The public school aristocracy," she supplied, "Rather than some humble captain like Tom Gillan and a socially obscure nurse like me?"

"Yes, exactly," he replied, "She put her foot down at that and invited him herself. She used to know his late mother, of course."

"And here was I thinking you invited me because you missed me, rather than to annoy your wife," she remarked lightly, "Oh Roland, you know I'm joking!" seeing the appalled look on his face.

He met her eyes, pretended to smart and smiled at his own foolishness.

"I'll be very interested to meet your wife," she told him after a moment, "I didn't get a chance to at the wedding."

"She wasn't there," he replied.

"Oh. I suppose that's why, then."

"She made me say that she wasn't feeling well enough," he told her.

"Oh?"

"Really, it was-... she has quiet a memory for gossip, my wife. And, what with-..."

"She remembered Kitty's first marriage?"

"Yes. You know about it, of course."

"I imagine I know a good deal more about it than your wife does."

"Quite."

"Do you think Kitty knew?" she asked him, "Is that why she's not here now?"

"Oh, I made sure she was invited," he assured her, "She declined. Because of her pregnancy. Probably for the best, all told. I wouldn't have been at all surprised if she did know. But I would have liked to have seen her all the same."

"Yes," Grace agreed, "So would I."

They were quiet for a moment.

"Shouldn't you be writing your notes?" she asked him, "For Colonel Perbright?"

"They've been written for months," he told her, "I just wanted-... more time."

"I see," she tried not to smile, or blush.

"There are certain things, you see, about this weekend, that I haven't told you yet," he continued, "And that I want to confide in you. If you'll let me."

She nodded, struck by his seriousness.

"Of course, Roland. You can tell me anything."

"I know," he replied, "I knew I could rely on you."

"This party we're giving for Alex's graduation from Oxford," he began after a moment, "That's not really why we're giving it."

"Oh? Why then?" she asked.

"We needed-... well, we didn't. Hetty needed," he corrected himself, barely able to stop himself gritting his teeth, "A suitable way to publically announce that Alex is engaged to be married."

"Really?" she asked, "Congratulations."

"Thank you," he replied swiftly, "He's marrying rather well, what's thought of as well at any rate, and Hetty is beside herself, both with excitement and with anxiety that it might not all come off as she wants it to in the end."

"And you?" she asked, curiously.

Roland shrugged his shoulders.

"She's a nice enough girl," he replied, "And very pretty. Alex seems besotted with her, so I suppose I shouldn't have any qualms at all."

"But you obviously do," she prompted him.

"Not with her as such," he replied, "Like I said, Evelyn is a nice enough girl. Well maybe she did strike me as a bit dim the first time we met but it's her parents I really object to."

"What are they like?" she asked.

"What's called "traditional" people," he told her, "Stuck up, fantastically wealthy and rather given to being fanatically religious."

"They sound like just your sort of people," she teased him.

"You can tell they're not too thrilled about her marrying Alex," he continued, "Nothing was ever going to be good enough for them, but somehow the son of a colonel who intends becoming a solicitor took the biscuit. I can see why Hetty is worried that they won't allow her to go through with it."

"You say that they're happy with one another, though?" she asked him, "Alexander and Evelyn?"

"Oh, tremendously."

"Surely that will pull things through, then?" she speculated, "In the end?"

"God, I hope so, Grace," he replied, "I hope so."

"You must be very proud of him," she remarked.

"Oh, yes," he told her, "Very much so."

There was a moment's pause.

"There's something else."

"What?" she asked softly.

"Tomorrow-... It would have been Freddie's twenty-fifth birthday."

"Oh, Roland-..." she was truly taken aback, "But surely-... Hetty remembers? She must!"

"Oh yes, she remembers alright. Hetty and I-... handle grief in very different ways. Her way is definitely through distraction."

"And yours isn't," she finished for him, "Oh, Roland, I'm so sorry."

"That's why I asked you here, Grace," he told her truthfully, "More than anything. Of course I wanted to see you, but you saw how his death affected me. You understand."

"Yes," she murmured in reply, "I do. I'm so glad you asked me here."

"I didn't know who else to tell."

"You don't have to explain," she promised him, "I understand."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for your reviews so far, I'm glad you liked the first chapter. I really hope you enjoy this one too. **

Not long afterwards, it became clear that Roland could not put off meeting their old acquaintance forever and they parted, he making his way downstairs to face Perbright and Grace trying to see if she could remember her way back to her bedroom. Rooms, she mentally corrected herself. She was doing well, or at least she thought she was; before she could reach her destination she came across another familiar, and much more welcome, face on the stairs.

"Captain Gillan!"

"Miss Carter!" he replied, smiling, gently squeezing her hand as they drew level on the stairs, "It's good to see you."

"And you too," she told him, "Have you just got here?"

"I've been here a little while," he replied, "I haven't seen Colonel Brett yet, but I can wait, I imagine he's very busy."

"He's just gone down to see Colonel Perbright," she informed him.

"I can definitely wait."

She smiled broadly at him, and he smiled back.

"I was just going to stretch my legs in the grounds before dinner," he told her, "I don't know if you'd like to come with me?"

"I'd like that," she told him, and followed him down the stairs, across the spacious front hall, out into a side passage and down some steps out of a side door to the house.

"I've visited before," he explained as they emerged into the garden, "There was an exhibition on in London that Roland thought would be interesting and obviously they are a lot closer than we are, so he invited me to stay here."

"How are you finding being back in Scotland?" she asked him.

"I like it very much," he replied, "I'm glad Kitty took so well to it."

"Yes, I was very glad too when she wrote and told me," Grace told him.

He was smiling rather wanly, looking at her, and then swiftly away when he saw that she had caught the look on his face.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"Nothing," he replied, quickly.

She raised her eyebrows.

"You'll think me very sentimental," he told her. They paused a little in their strides before resuming a slow pace along the path that lead around the edge of the lily pond, "It's just that it's very good to see you again, Miss Carter."

"There's nothing wrong with being a little sentimental," she told him, "But please, Captain Gillan, don't call me Miss Carter. No one I really cared for bothered with it in India and from then on it was either Sister or Matron. Just call me Grace."

"If you call me Tom."

"Very well," she agreed, smiling a little, "It's good to see you again too, Tom. Not least because I can ask you how Kitty is and how she's feeling about the baby."

"She's doing very well," he told her.

"How long is it until the baby is due?"

"Two months," he replied, and she smiled to herself again, hearing a poorly suppressed strain of pride in his voice, "She felt too tired to come here. I wanted to stay at home with her but she insisted I came here. She said she thought Colonel Brett could use the support."

"I doubt she knows how right she is about that," Grace agreed in a low, rueful voice.

Her tone was not lost on Tom, and he looked at her carefully for a moment. She expected him to question her but he did not, then. They passed briefly under the shadow of the willow and its drooping cascade of branches, the lowest leaves caressing the surface of the pond, in the corner of the garden.

"You know you're very welcome to come and visit us," he told her, as they emerged once more into the bright afternoon,"Come and stay with us. Kitty would like that a lot. I would like it. I'm afraid we won't be able to offer you accommodation on this scale, though," he nodded at the grounds surrounding them.

"I wasn't expecting you to be able to," she told him, "Truthfully, I wasn't even expecting Roland to be able to. I had no idea about this house."

"It was a surprise to me too when I visited for the first time. He hadn't mentioned it once in fur years."

"I know," she replied.

"So will you come to us?" he asked her.

"Maybe after the baby is born," she replied gratefully, "And give you both some time to adjust first."

"I don't think either of us would mind if you were there to help us with the adjustments," he replied softly, and she laughed.

"It was Kitty's idea," he told her apologetically, "She seemed to think you'd be rather good at it. I think she's probably right too."

Her smile, and her throat, tightened a little but she tried not to let it tell in her voice.

"I was never a children's nurse," she told him quietly, "Or a midwife. Kitty's probably in far better practice with children than I am."

"Nevertheless," he told her, "I think she values your judgement."

She was quiet for a moment.

"Make sure she's absolutely sure about it first," she told him, "But I'd love to come and stay, Tom. I'd love to help too. Really."

He smiled at her.

"Thank you," he told her softly, "That does mean an awful lot."

His voice was tenderly sincere and her eyes were drawn more closely to her face. He met her eyes and she gave him a questioning look.

"It's just something that concerns me," he told her, "Kitty has basically been cut off from her family. My parents are getting on quite a bit and my brother and his family live near Plymouth. I want the child to have enough people who they know care for them-... I don't want them to want for a proper family, in spite of all that's happened. Does that make sense?"

"Of course it does," she told him gently, "And to that end, I will be there whenever you, Kitty or your child ask me to be."

"Thank you," he said softly, "That will mean the world to Kitty."

"But I don't think you need worry," she continued, "The child will have two healthy, loving parents. They will already infinitely better of than many of their generation."

He nodded sadly, and she was sorry to have paid such a poignant compliment.

"I'm so glad that you and Kitty are happy together," she told him, "I was saying as much to Roland before. Really, you probably have no idea how happy it makes me."

She could see that he smiled a little too. They had walked quite a distance from the house by now and they wordlessly agreed to turn and tread the path they had just taken again. As they returned they were able to observe the magnificent façade of the house, its deep red brick and its dark green ivy. There was barely any breeze and the rest of the grounds lay as still as the waterlilies on the surface of the pond.

"I think there are those who are suited to marriage," he replied levelly, "I think Kitty and I might both be that sort of person. That helps a lot. That's not to say it wouldn't be equally disastrous if we hadn't married the wrong person," he added.

"Well, it was," she reminded him, "When she did."

"Quite," he agreed.

They were each quiet for a moment.

"Which do you think it is here?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she asked in return.

"The Bretts," he replied, "Do you think it's the wrong arrangement or the wrong people in their case?"

"I'm not sure," she replied after a second. There was obviously no point in trying to hide the inklings she had about the unhappiness of Roland's situation, "I've never had the pleasure of meeting Lady Brett thus far."

"Well, if it won't spoil the surprise for you, that pleasure is quite a debatable one," he told her.

"I had guessed it might be," she admitted quietly, and he smiled a little.

"If my opinion counts for anything, I don't think it's Roland who it doesn't suit. Forgive me, if I speak out of turn, but I think the right woman, at the right time, could make him... very happy. She could mend him."

Grace let out a very long, low breath, before saying;

"Tom, if you're trying to hint at something-..."

"All I'm trying to hint at is that I think there's a reason he's tried to keep you at arm's length until now, Grace, as much as there's a reason that you've been invited here now."

She tensed a little.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean by that," she told him.

They had come now to a complete halt.

"Grace," he told her, very gently and very quietly, "What I mean-... What I'm trying to hint at, and I think it's something you do know as well, is that I think Roland is unhappy. And I hate to see that, and I'm sure you do to. You know I would never normally speak so far out of turn if it wasn't some I cared for. But I also think could help him; a great deal. Whether and how you choose to do that is, of course, up to you."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much for your reviews, I'm really glad you're enjoying the story so far. **

They walked the rest of the way back to the house in near silence. Before they went back in to the side door, though, Tom paused.

"I don't know how many of Roland and Hetty's friends will be there tonight," he told her, "I don't know how formal it will be, given that the main party is tomorrow. But would you allow me to be your partner at dinner?"

"So long as you behave yourself," she told him with a gleam in her eye, "I would love to. Especially if all of their family friends are like Colonel Perbright."

He smiled back at her.

"You're right," he replied, "They are."

She closed her eyes in mock dismay and he laughed, following her in through the door and along the corridor a moment later.

She did not then realise what a good dear of Tom's it was or how grateful for his presence at her side she would feel when she entered the drawing room, full of Roland's very smart friends, all of whom seemed to be attending in pairs. Glancing sideways, she caught Tom's eye and he gave her an encouraging smile. They were largely unknown, as their names were announced they drew little attention from the room but they were thankful to be left alone, and having each other there they were not lonely. Roland saw them though, and headed towards them both, smiling broadly at the sight of them.

"It's so good to see you both," he told them quietly and sincerely, shaking Tom's hand.

"I'm very pleased to be here," Tom told him in reply.

Turning away from Tom, Roland inclined is head in Grace's direction, taking in her appearance in one appraising look.

"You look lovely," he murmured, his head close to hers.

It was as if he could read her mind, or the slight anxiety in her expression, and knew she was worried that she might not look right. Clothes were not normally her main priority and so she was now poorly equipped in the one instance when she really cared about her appearance, in order that she would not cause him embarrassment. All the money she had been able to spend had gone towards a dress for the main party and she could not wear it both nights so she had had to make do with an old black frock from before the war, with some modest alterations. His voice was soft though, and so truthful, that for a moment all of her worries were assuaged and she felt completely at ease with herself. She caught Tom's eyes lingering on her, a knowing look on his face, and she momentarily scowled at him, telling him to stop it.

"You'll have to forgive my wife," he told them both, "There was some misdemeanor in the kitchen and Hetty is away talking to the cook at the moment. She shouldn't be long. In the mean time, you must both come and meet Alex."

They both followed him towards a young man dressed in what looked like a brand new dinner suit. Alexander Brett's hair was thick and very light, his eyes astonishingly blue. He was a very good looking young man, Grace noted as she approached him. His face was narrower than she had expected, but his expression displayed an easiness in manner and a good-natured self-confidence that she supposed was very rare in young men of his age.

"Alex, these are my good friends Captain Tom Gillan and Miss Grace Carter. As you know, we served together during the war."

Alexander smiled warmly at them both, shaking both of their hands in a pleasingly firm and sincere grip.

"I'm very pleased to meet you," he told them, "My father speaks so highly of you both."

"As he does of you," Tom told him, "Many congratulations on graduating."

Alex beamed sincerely.

"Thank you," he replied, shaking Tom's hand again.

"Were you at the same college as your father?"

As Tom and Alex exchanged stories about their times at university, Grace turned back to Roland. He was watching her already as their eyes met. She caught a sad look in his eye and gave him a smile.

"Are you alright?" she asked him quietly.

"Yes," he murmured in reply.

"How was your paper received?" she enquired lightly.

He gave a quiet snort of mirth.

"Mixed reviews."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Well, more like indecisive," he replied, "He said he was going to take it away to give it a full appraisal."

"To get his head around it, more likely."

He laughed.

"Good God, anyone would think you were a cynic, Miss Carter."

She gave him a gentle smirk.

"Perhaps I am. In this case."

"I think, perhaps, in this case, we all may be," he told her.

"Roland, Roland, it's alright," they both turned at the sound of a voice at his shoulder.

A woman in a silver dress, heavy with beads, matching her swept-up grey hair appeared beside him. Grace knew that this could only be Hetty.

"It's all been sorted out," she told him, "But cook is in a foul temper so we had all better go in quickly or there'll be blood in the soup, I shouldn't wonder."

Hetty was not as Grace had imagined her to be. She was a handsome woman, somewhat worn, but still giving the impression of having been very beautiful. Shorter than Grace, she still cut an imposing figure, if stout, in the room. Her dress and jewellery looked expensive, her perfume strong.

"Who is this?" she cast her eye over Grace's frock, quite as if she was addressing a peculiar looking child.

Where Grace had expected her to be pathetic, she was in fact patronising.

"This is Grace Carter," Roland told her, "My dearest friend from the army." 

"How do you do, Miss Carter?" Hetty asked, briefly taking Grace's hand, not giving her the chance to reply before continuing, "Now, as I'm sure you heard, we must be along into dinner, or there will be hell to pay. Come along, Roland."

Roland followed, giving Grace an apologetic look as he went. She watched him go and was shortly joined by Tom as Alexander had to leave to follow his parents into dinner and talk to his other guests.

"I see you met the famous Lady Harriet," he remarked.

She smiled dryly at him as they followed the rest of the guests through into the dining room, taking their seats beside one another.

"Why famous?" she asked him.

"Well, maybe that's the wrong word," he amended, "More, notorious perhaps."

"You can't expect that to make me any less curious," she told him.

He grinned.

"Sorry," he told her.

"You seemed to get on very well with Alexander, at any rate," she remarked.

"Yes, he seems a very nice young man," he replied.

"Very polite," she agreed, "Though he didn't look at all like Roland."

She glanced across the large table to where mother and son sat beside one another, wondering if she had missed something in the short time she had seen Hetty in the flesh. But there was little resemblance there either.

"Or Hetty," she added, perplexed, "Unless she was blonde as a girl."

When Tom did not speak, she stopped observing Alexander's profile and looked towards him instead. The look on his face to her by surprise.

"What is it?" she asked him, "What have I said?"

When Tom spoke, he did so so quietly that it was a stretch even for Grace to hear him.

"Look to your right," he told her, "Just a little further. Yes, that's it. Do you see the very fair gentleman with the moustache sitting near the end of the table?" 

"Yes," she replied.

Tom said no more. Grace was glad that her face was turned away from him to hide the way her eyes momentarily widened in shock. She took a deep breath and turned to him very slowly.

"Is he the reason that Hetty Brett is notorious?" she asked him simply, and equally quietly.

Tom inclined his head, just a fraction.

"They were seen leaving the Ritz together," he told her.

"How do you-... Does Roland know?" she asked him.

"Well if I came to hear about it, I imagine-..."

"No," she hissed, "About Alexander!"

"I don't know," he replied gravely, "I don't imagine it would make any difference if he were to find about it now. He was father to us all in France and none of us were his biological children."

She wanted a glass of water, she felt light-headed. Her hand shook a little on the stem of the glass but she lifted it to her lips and forced herself to drink. She found Roland across the table. He was watching her with some concern. She could not believe that it was him who was worried about her. He inclined his head, mouthing _Are you alright?_ across at her. She nodded, and turned her eyes away. She wanted to cry.

Tom was watching her too.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, "Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything."

Grace shook her head.

"Who is he, that man?" she asked him quietly.

"That's Major Lloyd," he told her.

"Was he in the regular army?" she asked him.

"Still is," he replied, "Coldstream Guards."

She watched quietly for a moment as Major Lloyd made eye contact with Hetty across the table. A look, she dared not say the quickest of winks, was exchanged. She suddenly felt sick.

"Tom," she murmured, ""I'm not feeling at all well."

He smiled sadly.

"And you've only had one night of it," he told her.

She got up and left the table without saying anything, unable to touch the soup in front of her. She was glad the footman opened the door for her because it meant that she was able to get out of the room before she started to cry.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for your reviews so far. Sorry for the delay, disruption last night due to arrival of new computer. **

"May I come in?"

His knock at her door took her very much by surprise. She was in her grey flannel dressing gown. He was already dressed for the party, in what could only be his best suit. He looked more than presentable, she thought.

"If you don't mind sitting in my room and talking to me through the door," she replied, stepping back a little to so that he could see her state of dress.

He expressed no surprise or discomfort at all at the sight of her and came inside, closing the door behind them.

"I've been looking for you all day," he told her, "I wanted to see if you were alright after dinner last night. I came after you, you know, but Maisy said you'd shut your door and wanted to left alone. I think she's taken a liking to you, you know, she really was quite insistent that I go away. You are alright, though, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied quietly, "I'm quite alright. I'm sorry I caused you to worry about me."

"It doesn't matter," he told her, "It's my pleasure to be concerned about you, Grace."

She smiled warmly at him for a moment.

"Do you mind talking to me through the door while I get ready in the other room?"

"Not at all."

She left the door ajar so that the sound could travel easily between the two of them.

"So what did you do today?" he asked her, "As I said, I called up to see if you were in here, but you weren't."

"I went for a long walk," she told him, taking her dress out of the wardrobe and taking off her dressing gown, making sure her slip was straight.

"Around the estate?" he asked.

"Partly," she replied, "I carried on past the lily pond and went down the hill through the trees. Then out of the estate and along the river for a little while."

"Goodness, I hope you've enough energy left for tonight," he told her.

"I have," she replied, smiling a little.

She lifted her dress off the hanger and on over her head. She had indeed walked for a long time today, alone in the quiet countryside around the estate. Her mind though had been irked by disquiet, and though her walk had in fact been solitary her mind had dwelt so much on the inhabitants of the estate that they all might as well have gone with her.

"I imagine it was very nice down there," came Roland's voice.

"It was a beautiful day," she replied.

There was a silence. Now, confronted, but for a wooden door, with the man who had occupied her thoughts for most of the day, it was almost as if there was nothing to say. After the particular thoughts that had run through her mind, it felt almost as if there was nothing, nothing, she could say to him now that would change their lives, for better or worse. And she was not quite brave enough for that yet.

"So," came his voice again, "What did you think of her then?"

"Who?" she asked, distracted.

"My esteemed wife," he called back, "Who else?"

"I'm not sure," she told him after a moment's thought, "She isn't as I expected she'd be, I'll say that much. I don't know, it isn't as if I saw her for very long and anyway," she teased him, "How do I know you're not going to report my answer back to her?"

"Because it's me and it's Hetty," he told her simply, "And because you're not stupid."

She did not know whether to smile at his humour or cry at his frankness. She altered the lie of her dress on her thighs a little, examining her reflection in the mirror.

"She's very-… I don't know what the word is," she told him, "I want to say flapped. Or she was when I saw her. Or maybe gregarious," the word was out, and her tone carrying through to him in the next room, before she could check herself, "Or not. I don't know," she murmured apologetically, fidgeting with her dress again.

Even when he was not in the same room as her, he seemed to be provoking an honesty in her that she realised now she ought to reign in.

"Ah," she could hear him smiling, "So you noticed it then. I wondered if you would."

There was a moment's pause. Evidently, he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"Noticed what?" she asked a moment later, knowing perfectly well what he meant.

"Oh, Grace, thank you, but really, there's no need to spare my feelings as far as this is concerned, I assure you. It's practically common knowledge that she's been unfaithful to me with nearly every man to pass through this house since we've been married. It's alright."

"Have you ever?" evidently he brought out a curiosity in her too, which in this case got the better of her at the vital second, "You know?" she added almost shyly.

"The thought did cross my mind once or twice," he told her honestly, "I never did anything about it, though."

A lump seemed to form in her throat at the very thought of Roland in relation to the thought of adultery and the assumptions it seemed to lead them both to. There was silence for a moment.

"Who was it you saw her with?" he asked her, quite conversationally.

She was silent for a moment, smoothing the fabric over her legs again, watching the fleeting glimmer of the tiny beads in the light.

"Major Lloyd," she said finally.

"Ah, yes, he's an old one," he remarked, "I'm not surprised, you'll have spotted him a mile away. I suppose you've heard what happened at the Ritz?"

"I've heard enough, yes," she replied.

"Hmm," he hummed in thoughtful agreement, "And this is the woman who wouldn't attend Kitty Gillan's wedding."

"Sometimes we can exonerate faults in ourselves that we condemn in others without a second thought," she told him gently, "It's just another way of not facing up to them." She paused for a moment, putting on the single string of black beds she had brought with her and making sure it was straight, bowing her head a little and frowning, "What do Evelyn's parents have to say about it?"

"Oh, it's all explained away as a set of innocent misunderstandings," he replied, "In the right company, and when the motivation is there, and of course Hetty has all of the motivation in the world. And adultery is bad enough, but at least it's not divorce. Nothing sticks like the attempt to permanently dissolve."

Behind the door her head was still bowed.

"I'm so sorry, Roland," she told him.

He let out a laugh.

"Grace, my darling, there's nothing for you to be sorry about!" he told her, the endearment seeming to slip out unconsciously, "It isn't your fault that my marriage was the biggest sham of the last decade and seems to making a pretty passable run at this one too."

They were both quiet for a moment.

"I think I'm ready," she said at last.

"Come on, then," he called through to her, "Let me see you."

She stepped back into her bedroom, not without hesitation, her long gown seeming to increase the weight of her footsteps.

"What do you think?" she asked him.

For a moment, he did not seem to be able to speak. She was wearing the new black dress she had bought for the occasion. She had wondered if it was a little daring, the neckline dipped sharply towards her breasts, the sleeves were short and revealed a good deal of her shoulders. The long skirt was speckled with tiny black beads so that the dress shone a little in the dimmed light.

"Grace," when he did speak, his voice was somehow different, "You're beautiful."

"Roland," she told him, "Take me seriously, please."

"How could I not?" his eyes flickered up from the lines of the dress to her face, "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Roland-…" It was her now who could not think of what to say.

Her heart seemed to be in her throat as she met his gaze. They watched each other from across the room. She wanted to shiver, but for the fact that she was suddenly far too warm. If she did not stop herself soon, she would choke out the fact that she loved him, she wanted him, here, now, like this-…

"Could you pass me my gloved, please?" she finally managed to ask.

"Sorry?"

"My gloves," she repeated, "They're on the dressing table ."

"Of course," he passed them to her, and she took them quickly so that their fingers did not have the chance to meet.

To distract herself, and to force her hands into some regimented activity to prevent them from fumbling, she concentrated on pulling the gloves securely up to her elbows. His eyes lingered on her fingers as she smoothed the fabric out, pushing out the wrinkles from the black silk.

"I thought you said you were nothing socially," he asked her finally, "Why do you have a dress like that if that's the case? Your mother can't have worn it in India!"

"No, she didn't," she agreed, bending quickly to check that her hair was still in place in the mirror of the dressing table, "It's new, I bought it to come here. I couldn't embarrass you by turning up to the big party in something shabby."

"You could never embarrass me," he told her quietly, "But, Grace, the expense!"

She smiled at him.

"I'm not completely destitute, you know," she told him, "I can afford a new dress, once in a while. And I considered it worth it, for a dear friend."

His eyes shone with a mixture of emotion, and, she found herself hoping, desire, a little as they met hers. She bit her lip.

"Tom will be calling around to take me downstairs in a moment," she warned him quietly.

"I should go, then," he told her.

"I can't imagine Tom will mind too much," she replied. _He knows about us_, she wanted to say.

"Even so, I should go and see if Hetty is nearly ready. Or at least ask her to hurry up," he smiled at her a little wearily, "I'll see you downstairs."

"Yes," she murmured, watching the door close as he left the room in the mirror of the dressing table.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so so much for your reviews, hope you continue to enjoy. **

Tom, in a fashion she has always admired in him, was very prompt in knocking on her door to escort her downstairs.

"You look very nice," he told her, "How are you feeling?"

He asked quietly and calmly, in a way that let her know that after last night he knew that she was perturbed, and that she did not have to explain to him if she did not want to.

"I'm fine," she replied, smiling bravely at him, because she had decided she _was _fine. There would be no leaving in tears tonight. Tom had been perfectly right in what he said last night; she was merely glancing into what was Roland's life had been for the last thirty years. She owed it to him to bear it bravely, no matter how repugnant or upsetting she may find the whole situation.

Tom smiled back at her, offering her his arm. She took it, gripping a little tightly, the smooth dark material comforting to the touch.

"This is a very nice suit," she told him, for the want of something completely ordinary and dull to say, to calm herself.

"Kitty has a good eye," he replied.

"Of course."

The house had filled up quite considerably since yesterday, there seemed to be a great throng of smartly tailored people in the main hall downstairs, vaguely forming into a line.

"We'll have to line up to be formally greeted by Roland and Hetty and Alex," he told her quietly.

"Oh yes, of course," she murmured in reply. She felt her stomach churn a little.

"It's alright," Tom whispered.

"I'm so sorry," she replied quietly, wondering if she was simply transparent at the moment, "How can you tell it's not?"

"Because you're nearly wringing my arm off," he told her.

"Sorry," she muttered quietly, "I'm so sorry, Tom. I'm behaving like a child. You must wish you had Kitty with you instead of me."

"What and spend the evening gallantly in the corner hearing a murmured monologue of the up-to-the-minute woes of her bladder and feet? I may love her with all my heart, but at the moment you present certain advantages as a dancing partner, Grace."

She smiled ruefully.

"This is all just a bit alien to you," he reassured her, "Of course it's difficult. Particularly with,-… well, given who else is here," he finished tactfully, "I remember, I felt like this when I was first made an officer and I started attending those ghastly dinners in the mess."

"Yes, I can imagine," she told him.

In the line they stood closely behind an old couple and could not talk without being overheard, so Grace simply gave his arm a gentle squeeze and murmured;

"Thank you, Tom. I'm glad I've got you here."

He smiled back at her.

They waited in silence until they reached the front of the line.

"Miss Carter," Hetty met her eye very steadily, and Grace did her best to smile in reply, "Captain Gillan," she did not know if it was her overactive imagination or if she really saw Hetty's smile widen a fraction at the sight of the handsome, well-dressed young man, "Thank you for being here."

Her eyes, though, wherever they had momentarily lingered, flitted onwards to the pair standing behind them and left them to Roland.

"Tom," Roland shook Tom's hand firmly and Alex stepped forwards to do the same, leaving Grace for a moment caught between Hetty and Alex's distracted attentions, alone to seemingly consume the whole of Roland's.

He took her gloved hand carefully in his and raised it slightly, glancing at her face, apparently seeking her permission. She gave him as much of a smile as she could manage; her heart was racing and her hand was shaking. He raised it gently the rest of the way to his lips. He kissed her knuckles gently, but she thought that, but for the gloves, the contact would have seared her skin.

"Grace," he murmured. It felt as if he was trying to caress the sound of her name with his mouth.

She let out a long uneven breath as she raised her head to look at his face. He met her look with one as unrelenting as Hetty's. Hetty! For a moment she had completely forgotten they were standing inches away from his wife! And she did not dare look at Tom, whatever doubts he had about them had probably been well and truly put to rest. All she could do was force her legs to try and move forwards and act as if nothing had happened.

"Alexander," she took his hand, forcing her voice to remain level, "Thank you for inviting me."

"It's a pleasure, Miss Carter," he told her, bowing his head to her.

Holding onto Tom's arm, she allowed him to lead her away into the room where people were already beginning to dance. No expense had been spared; the room was awash with waiters bearing drinks, a jazz band played in the corner.

"I think you need a drink," Tom told her simply, obtaining two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter with remarkable ease.

She let out a deep sigh.

"I think you're probably right," she replied, accepting one of the glasses from him, "I've heard it helps."

He smiled ruefully, taking a deep drink.

"Do you think we ought to dance?" he asked her after a moment.

"I'm rapidly becoming very sick of what one ought to do," she informed him darkly, "It seems to be rotten to the core."

"I shall tell Kitty you said that, Matron Carter," he teased her, "It's bound to make her smile."

"I've changed since the war," she told him calmly, "There are things I would do now that I wouldn't do then. That I didn't do then, and I think I've been regretting ever since."

He met her eyes. He saw that she was serious and the levity left is eyes.

"If you mean what I think you do-…."

"Please don't give me a warning, Tom," she told him quietly, "You as good as encouraged me. I know what I'm doing."

There was a moment's pause.

"If it's sure it's what you want," he told her.

"It is," she replied simply.

"Then I probably couldn't stop you even if I wanted to," he told her.

A flicker of a smile crossed her lips at that.

"Tom, I really have appreciated you this weekend, and you ought to be told as much."

He grinned at her.

"Forever at your service, Grace Carter."

She smiled sadly back at him, taking another sip of her drink.

"Anyway, I don't think you have anything to be anxious about," she explained quietly, "We're leaving tomorrow, and with all the formalities and civilities that have to be gone through I doubt Roland will have time for either of us tonight."

"Grace."

She froze at the sound of his voice from behind her back. She knew it was him. She did not need to turn. She could tell from Tom's face.

Slowly, she turned around to face him.

"Will you dance?" he asked quietly, offering her his hand.

She looked down at her hands, holding a half-drunk glass of champagne.

"Here," Tom told her, removing the glass from her hands, "Let me take your drink."

She felt her breath leave her in one long shudder as she stretched out her empty hand and allowed it to be taken by Roland. He led her into the centre of the dancing, wrapping his arm around her waist. The band was playing a slow song, there was no need to dance quickly, their bodies moved carefully in time, gradually, seamlessly converging. Their fingers laced together. She could feel him watching her. She knew if she looked into his eyes for too long she would simply dissolve into him. His thumb caressed up and down against her waist as they danced, so tenderly it made her ache. His heart was beating close to hers, it was making her tremble. This was the most intimate thing that had happened in her life, and it was happening in a room full of people to the lazy sound of jazz musicians. She was swallowed up by it. Perhaps it was that, perhaps it was the hollowed sense of loss that made her move her mouth before his so only he could see the movement of her lips as she murmured, "Meet me," almost against his lips.

In the applause that filled the room as the song finished, no one saw or heard him as he leant forwards and murmured in her ear;

"The french windows at the back of the hall are open. Go down the steps. There's a gazebo to your left on the way to the lake."

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	6. Chapter 6

**Again, thank you so much for your reviews, I appreciate it so so much. This is going up to an M now, I'll change the rating properly tomorrow. **

She went as soon as she thought she could do so unobserved. Doing as he had told her, making for the french windows, descending the steps and hurrying across the terrace into the dark. The frame of the gazebo was painted white, and just visible through the blue shadows. Glancing behind herself to make sure that she still was not being watched, she made her way towards the gentle shimmering of the surface of the lake, bearing left towards the white paintwork.

The door was unlocked but the gazebo was quite clearly deserted; she was sure no one had trickled down here from the party. She slipped inside. Most of the gazebo was made of glass, exempt for the thick white lattice work beams supporting the ceiling, but the deserted part of the garden was so dark and the surrounding trees so thick that the walls might as well have been opaque.

She paused for a moment, close to the glass at the far side of the gazebo, looking through a gap in the dulled greenery out to the silvery lake. The moon reflected in its surface, full and bright. She felt its light illuminate the top fraction of her face as she stepped momentarily into its path.

"Grace."

She heard the quiet click of the door behind her. He was here. Usually she found his presence comforting, now it made her heart race. Her breath quivered against the glass before she turned towards him.

Even in the dark, she could see the intensity in his eyes, she could hear it too in his voice as he spoke her name. Standing in the darkened space, it was as if she could feel the years they had spent knowing one another collapsing, all coming down to this single moment between them, shrinking with the number of paces that separated them as he began to move closer to her. Muted by the thick glass, she could just about hear the sound of the jazz band at the party rippling over the immaculate lawns, and yet she was still hard-pressed to really believe that anyone else really existed in that moment.

He was closer again when he finally spoke.

"I can't take my eyes off you."

She felt a flush creeping from the top of her breasts to her neck. She could not speak; as he said he was transfixed by her, she was by him. Closer again, his whisper was clearly audible.

"You don't know what you do to me."

He was close enough to touch. To close her eyes, to tilt her head forwards and kiss, open-mouthed, her fingers gently cupping his cheek.

As their lips parted, his eyes opened and met hers through the dark.

"I need you," he told her quietly, "Now."

There was not one inch of her, not one ounce of strength that wanted to protest. As their lips met again, forcefully, her knees seemed to give way beneath her. He was there to catch her though, supporting her in his arms, pushing her against the thin stretch of lattice-work wall, lifting her off the ground. Her arms clung around his neck, desperately, pulling his body closer to hers, arching her back off the wall so her breasts pressed against his chest. Thank God, she thought, that it only been her, aching for years of carrying around this spark of attraction. Though by now she had known as much anyway, it was wonderful to have such incontrovertible and physical confirmation.

Her body was clamouring for his- without thinking about it her legs had wrapped around his middle- as he lowered one shoulder of her dress, kissing her hard where the fabric had been, pulling her skin between his teeth, leaving his mark on her. She managed to fumble off her long gloves, letting them drop to the floor so that she could feel his skin under her fingertips, working her hands under his shirt. Through the new lace brassiere she was wearing, he lavished her breasts with his tongue; she could feel him hard and pressing insistently against her. Having him here, in the dark, between her thighs, like this, was more erotic than she could possibly have imagined. She did not care that there were at least four hundred people in the nearest walled room, across the garden, or what it would look like if someone were to walk in- it would look like exactly what it was- she wanted him like she had wanted no one else in her life. Reaching her had between their bodies she slipped open the catch of his trousers and touched him. She heard him growl into her ear as he fought to stay quiet. Resting her weight against the wall, he reciprocated, slipping her underwear to the side, sinking a finger briefly inside her before pushing into her. Quickly, he raised his hand to her mouth to stifle her throaty gasp, and she lapped at his fingers, damp with her own excitement. The feeling of herself stretching to accommodate him caused her hips to move of their own volition, canting against him as he began to thrust into her. Something entirely primal had overtaken her, she was unable to control herself, unable to think of anything except the way he was moving inside her and what it was making her feel. The aching longing was building inside her like a delicious fire. They muffled the sound of one another's mouths with kisses, her arms holding on to him with a vice-like grip as his hands gently fisted her short hair in his excitement. She cried out, suppressing the sound only by burying her face in his jacket as she came, and a moment later he bit down again on the skin above her breast.

They fought to regain control of their breathing, still clinging on to one another. He slipped out of her, setting her down on the ground as gently as he could, helping her to attend to her dress and hastily making sure his own trousers were in order. Seeing the way her hands were shaking, he took tight ahold of them.

"Oh, my darling," calling her that for the second time that night, "That was-…"

"I know."

That was all either of them could manage to say, so he drew her face back towards him, kissed her temple with such tenderness that it almost unsettled her breathing, almost had her weeping there and then. His lips lingered in a final caress of her skin.

"I will see you later," he murmured to her, "We need to talk. Whatever happens later this evening, come and find me. I need to see you. Promise me?"

She nodded silently. He kissed her in the same spot on her temple, once more, and was gone a moment later.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry I've taken so long to update, I've been working and sorting out my various personal crises. I'm really not sure about this chapter so I'd love to know what you think. I'm so grateful for your reviews so far.**

How she managed to walk back into the hall without her knees buckling under her she had no idea. She felt scrutinised from all sides, as if every move she made was followed by some beady eye, though she knew of course it was impossible, for all anyone knew she had simply been walking alone in the grounds. Her eyes combed through the room and found Tom among the guests. He met her eyes and she made for him, extremely grateful for the sanctuary of his company in the tempest of what was happening to her.

He did not ask what had happened or why a dance had taken so long.

"I'm sorry," he told her quietly, "I drank your champagne."

"It doesn't matter," she replied, an attempt at a smile flickering across her face.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes," she murmured.

She would be alright. There was no option but to be alright. She could not see where Roland was in the room. Perhaps that was for the best.

"I think we're just about to go in for dinner," Tom told her.

"Alright," she replied. She was not hungry, she did not know if she would want or even be able to eat, but it would be something to concentrate upon. Walking back from the gazebo through the darkness, the shadows seemed on the edge of absorbing her, her senses overwhelmed and confused as they were, and only the shimmering of the lake behind her and the tiny flecks of moonlight which penetrated the thick cover of the trees to pull her back to the here and now. How her feet had managed to order themselves one in front of the other in this wilderness of nature she put down purely to desperate resort to instinct.

As Tom had predicted, dinner was announced a moment later, and it was good to have an excuse to take his arm and be guided to the end of the hall and through the doors into the spacious dining room.

"Here we are," he murmured quietly, "I've found our names," he pointed to the little name cards which marked their places at the long table.

"Thank y- oh-…" she broke off as her eyes flitted to the name she saw on the card at the place beside hers.

"What?" Tom asked her.

She nodded to the card which had recaptured her diverted attention, with the name "Purbright" printed on it in neat stationer's letters.

"Oh." Clearly it made him feel the same way as it did her.

He inclined his head a little towards her as he pulled her chair back for her to sit down.

"There is clearly no god," he murmured.

She smiled ruefully.

Across the table and along a few places from them, Roland was sitting down beside Hetty. She knew she should not look in his direction, but her eyes lingered just for a moment and caught his.

She looked down quickly at the glass of water that was being poured out for her, nodding her thanks to the footman.

She realised that Tom was watching her over her shoulder.

"I know you might want to be anywhere else but here," he told her quietly, "But please don't leave me alone with Purbright."

"It's alright," she told her, "I won't," she met his eyes smiling a little, "I won't desert a comrade in the field."

He grinned at her in spite of himself.

"You're a good soul," he replied, matching her deadpan rhetoric.

She snorted a little as she took a sip of wine. The wine steadied her nerves a little, and it was very much needed.

"And who do I have the pleasure of taking dinner with this evening. Oh," Purbright stopped short as Grace turned in the direction of his voice and he saw the answer to his own question, "It's you, Miss Carter. What a surprise."

"And Captain Gillan too, Grace pointed out to him.

"Yes, I see that," he replied, rather cooly, without addressing Tom to say hello, taking the appointed seat beside Grace, "Quite a reunion."

He scanned the table, before turning his eye rather lazily on her and taking in her appearance. Evidently unable to find anything he could criticise about her, he said;

"I'm surprised to see you attending an event such as this. One wouldn't expect a nurse's salary to extend to very colourful social life."

"I manage," she replied, matching his coolness, "I like to think a little cost is justified in the support of friends."

She willed herself not to flush at the connotation, or the extent of the understatement. He however seemed not to notice.

"To be honest with you, Miss Carter, I'm not really here because I'm friends with the Bretts, though of course I am. My connection is mainly with the Wolesley family. That's their daughter Evelyn at the table beside Alexander. I was at Cambridge with their nephew and they took rather a shine to me."

"Oh," Grace replied. To be honest, it was hard at the moment to imagine that anyone could take a shine to Colonel Purbright, but she supposed it may have happened somewhere along the line.

"No one is supposed to know about this, Miss Carter, but I can't imagine you'll go and tell anyone," he gave her rather a smug look, "But young Lady Evelyn and Alexander are set to get married. You see if it's not announced tonight."

Grace was no longer listening to him. Instead she was looking down the table at the girl who was apparently Evelyn. Roland had been right, she was a very pretty girl, one Grace had briefly caught sight of earlier that day.

"That's the girl staying in the room next to mine," she murmured to Tom, pointing Evelyn out to him, "I wondered who it was. What?" she asked, catching sight of the look on Tom's face.

His brow was furrowed with concern, looking at the arm upon which she rested her head in thought.

"You were wearing gloves earlier," he murmured in her ear, "You seem to have lost them somewhere."

She felt herself flush and her eyes dart back in Roland's direction. He too seemed to have noticed. She saw his eyes linger for a moment on her now bare arms. Her breathing quickened in spite of her concern. It only hit her now, in fully formed words, they had made love. They had made love in a fragile glass house in the middle of his estate, she had not seen him naked or even really touched his skin properly but nonetheless they had made love. She felt her heart hammering. She wondered when dinner would be over, having to mentally remix herself that it had not yet actually begun. Again she glanced across the table to where Roland and Hetty sat. Hetty seemed to be holding court quite successfully, talking loudly to those around her. Roland was still watching her. When she caught his eye again, he seemed to realise that he was in danger of giving something away and turned his head sharply in the other direction.

Colonel Purbright evidently did not appreciate being ignored during their moment of distraction.

"Your wife not here, Gillan?" he asked, pointedly and carryingly, so that heads turned a little either side of them.

"No," replied Tom, curtly.

"Why is that, then?" Purbright asked, tilting his head as if he was trying to imply something by that remark.

"Because she's expecting a child," Grace answered him with equal sharpness.

Grace turned her head sharply back towards Tom, giving him an apologetic look. He blinked stoically, silently telling her not to apologise for someone else's idiocy. She drew strength from it, she was not sure how she was not shaking; sitting here, in sight of Roland, next to a man she had as good as despised for four years, just wanting to melt away, out of the crowded room.

"Is he drunk?" Tom murmured to her.

"I don't know," she replied, "He was always quite like this anyway."

She felt rather than saw Tom smile through clenched teeth.

"This will all be over soon," she told him, "Just dinner, the toasts, then we can go."

He looked at her.

"And what will we do then?" he asked her quietly, a little pointedly, "What will you do?"

"I'm not sure," she replied after a moment.

And it was true, she was not sure of anything, except the fact that she had a promise to keep.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you so much for your reviews!**

The wait through dinner was agony, punctuated by Purbright's increasingly sour comments and the ever tightening muscle in Tom's jaw. Hetty finally led the ladies out of the dinning room, through into the drawing room. Tom caught her eye apologetically, unable to follow, and Grace realised how alone she was among the women at the party, none of whom she knew. Beyond Hetty and now Evelyn there were very few she could even name. She had no desire to drink coffee or liquors or to make small talk with people she did not care about. She lingered by the door to the dining room for as long as she could, willing Roland to notice her.

He did, and, catching her eye, gave her the slightest nod. He would follow her. There was only one place where he would know for certain he could find her. Trying not to make any sound that would draw unwanted attention towards her, she turned and made her way quiet up the stairs towards her bedroom, and waited.

She could not stand still, not for long enough to sit anyway, she could not rest, lingering only for moments in one place, fidgeting with her hands.

There was a gentle knock at the door. She knew it was him.

"Come in."

He entered, closing the door behind himself.

"You'd better lock it," she told him quietly.

He obliged her without comment or question.

"I brought you your gloves," he told her, placing them on the dressing table, "That's why I was so long. I noticed you without them at dinner. You left them in the gazebo."

She flushed a little.

"Thank you," she told him.

There was a moment's pause.

"Grace," he murmured at last, "I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," she told him gently, "You didn't do anything I didn't want you to. But Roland, please, think very hard about whatever it is you do next. Because I can't be here for you if I'm only something you use to take out your frustration at Hetty with," her voice quivered, "I don't think I can do that. I thought I could, but I can't. I-… I love you too much for that. I'm not saying that I need you to leave her for me either, but just-… grant me this. Don't use me like that, please."

"Would you want me to leave her for you?" he asked her in a low voice, "I know you're not asking me to, but what if I did? Would you be glad?"

"Would you?" she asked him. She hardly dared to believe what she was hearing.

He took a step closer towards her.

"If I could," I replied, "If I can find a way, I will."

Her heart stopped. Her eyes found his. He was watching her intently.

"I can't begin to tell you how far Hetty is from my mind when I'm with you, Grace," he reached out, taking her hands in his, "There is nothing in my mind or in my heart but you. I can't begin to tell you how much I love you," she felt his breath caressing her face as he murmured to her, "I've wanted you since the moment I saw you and loved you since not long after that," he raised his hand to her cheek, cupping her face with his fingers, brushing her skin with the pad of his thumb. His movements were so tender that they made her ache, "What we did earlier was the best thing that has happened in my whole life."

She let out a ragged breath that she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"In mine too," she confessed quietly, stealing forward into his arms and wrapping hers around his back, pressing herself tightly to him, "My god, Roland, I love you so much."

"And I love you," he replied, kissing her hair, her cheek, "Knowing you were coming here I couldn't think of anything else. I thought I'd go mad before you even arrived."

She kissed him tenderly on the lips, his arms encircling her, running his fingers through her short hair.

"Did you think we would end up like this?" she asked him quietly, resting her cheek against his, "Did you imagine what it would be like?"

"I hoped," he admitted, "I'm only a man, Grace."

"You don't have to say it like that, I'm not blaming you for anything," she told him meeting his eyes, reassuringly, then playfully, "You don't know what I imagined myself."

She surprised herself with her boldness, and was rewarded by a deep groan.

"Oh Grace-… Will you tell me? Will you show me?"

"Now?" she asked him.

"Whenever you want to."

"Now," she affirmed, clasping his hand in hers, tugging him gently in the direction of the bed, "I want to feel you again."

"Oh, Grace."

She leant in again, kissing his lips. It was true, she affirmed silently with every touch of her lips against his, she loved him, so much, she had imagined them together like this. But, she reminded herself, it had never been quite like this. For years she had imagined them capitulating together, a desperate surrender in her narrow bed in France, never-.. like they had before, nor ever like this.

"I want you, Roland," she whispered to him between kisses, "I've wanted you for years."

He groaned again, running his hands through her hair. Persuading him to remove his hands for a second, she was able to push his jacket down his shoulders and off, making quick work of his white bow tie as well. Her fingers worked on the tight buttons at his throat. She had seen his body before. She remembered the unstoppable rush of arousal she had experienced when she walked into his office to find him applying lineament to his chest for a cold. Standing there before her in his dress shirt and braces she thought about the other times she had seen him similarly attired in his shirt sleeves and khaki army braces, wanting to reach out and touch the firmness of his chest. Another distinct memory came to her; standing with him in his shirt sleeves around the back of his office, by the rose plant which grew up the wall, yearning to reach out and soothe away his distress, as the sound of Madame Butterfly and a soldier sobbing issued from inside the walls.

His hands rested on her hips as he leant in to kiss her again. She undid his shirt buttons as best she could, slipping her fingers under his braces and removing those too. She ran her hands over his chest, caressing him over the thin smattering of dark hair. He was still in remarkably fine shape. She felt him tense under her touch and she latched her lips back onto his, wordlessly asking him to relax.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered to her, "I can't believe you want me."

"Of course I want you," she told him quietly, running her hands over his face and down over his neck, pushing his shirt off and placing kisses on his bare chest before whispering to him again, "You are very attractive, Roland," she thought it was more than possible that no one had ever told him this before, and the look in his eyes confirmed her suspicion, and she murmured, "You mean so much to me."

"May I take your dress off?" he asked her.

"Of course you may," she replied.

His hands followed the path they had travelled before, slipping under the shoulders of her dress and pushing them out so that they slipped down over her arms and the dress pooled at her feet. She could not help but feel nervous as he took in the sight of her, silently hoping that now he saw her like this he would not want to rephrase the appellation he had just offered her. But the look on his face as his eyes flitted over her black underwear told her all that she needed to know.

"Bed?" she asked him, nudging him gently towards it.

He nodded silently.

They tumbled back onto the bed together, him in his trousers and her in her undergarments. His hands caressed her shoulders gently as she lay on top of him.

"Grace, my darling-…"

Her hair fell forwards, brushing his face gently, falling like a curtain against the world.

"Sweetheart, may I touch you?"

"Of course," she whispered in reply, "I want you to."

Carefully, he rolled them over so that she was lying on her back, beneath him. His fingers traced a path down over the curve of her breast, to the top of her lace brassiere, caressing her nipple through the black silk. She moaned gently, her hands clutching his shoulders. He slipped his hands around to her back, unfastening the catch and divesting her of the tiny garment. Slowly, he bowed his head down to her breasts, drawing one of her nipples into his mouth. She felt his hand dip downwards, pressing between her thighs. She parted them immediately for him.

"Oh Roland-…"

He touched her first through her undergarments, so softly, affording her only a semblance of the pressure she wanted.

"Roland, please-…"

He kissed her collarbone, her lips, her forehead, brushing his lips quietly over her skin to soothe her as he moved her knickers to one side and sank his finger inside her. His leisurely pace was torturously slow. Every tiny movement he made brought her closer to begging out loud for more.

He kissed her breasts again as he pushed another finger inside her. She keened with pleasure as he trailed kisses down her body, his mouth joining his fingers as he slipped her underwear down her legs and off. He parted her folds with his tongue and she shouted out with the feeling it gave her.

"Are you aright?" he asked her.

"Yes!" she gasped, "Oh, god, don't stop!"

His hands grasped her hips in place and as she rocked against his mouth. He hummed against her sensitive skin and she came, hard, crying out again, her body shaking with the force of it.

His hands soothed over her skin, he held her as her breathing calmed. The world was spiralling with a molten golden explosion of pleasure and warmth. She pressed her body against his and felt his arousal against her.

He planted a kiss on her forehead.

"That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he told her quietly, "Sweetheart, my Grace, you're so perfect."

"That was perfect," she told him quietly, pressing her lips against his, her fingers edging towards the waistband of his trousers, "But now I want you to feel the same way. Come on, I want you, now."

"Alright, my love," he whispered, standing up to remove his trousers and undershorts.

She cupped him in her hand as he lay back down beside her, making him gasp, using his moment's surprise to push him onto his back, straddling his waist. He looked at her in surprise and she worked out what he was thinking.

"You've never made love like this before," she supplied.

"I've never made love before tonight," he replied in a whisper, "Everything with Hetty means nothing compared to this."

She vowed her voice to stay steady, though she felt tears rising in her throat at his words. She could not look him in the eye or she would weep, she focused instead on the skin of his chest.

"Oh, my love. It will be alright," she whispered to him, "You just leave everything to me."

She trailed her fingers down the centre of his chest, finally taking ahold of him in her hand and guiding him inside her. He gasped at the raw feeling of it, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to get used to the feeling of him so closely, stretching her. Her thighs clenched against his as she rocked against him and he sat up, crying out a little at her movements. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and clasped him to her, burying his face in her neck as she continued to move. She felt him stiffen, and whispered in his ear, "It's alright, my darling."

"Oh god, Grace, I love you!" he babbled as he spilled himself inside her.

Moments later she felt herself tighten and collapsed against him with a moan of completion.

As soon as they were able, they helped each other under the covers, holding each other tightly in a sleep of exhausted satiation.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	9. Chapter 9

Her ankles were hooked over his shoulders and he rocked hard inside her. The early morning light was filtering through the curtains, filling the room with an effervescent brightness. Her hands clutched his shoulders, pulling him tightly to her as he thrust into her again. Through the night she thought they must have made love in every way either of them knew how to.

Roland's eyes bore down into hers, half open and full of lust, as they moved together.

"I'm yours, Grace Carter," he gasped as he pushed into her again, "Wherever you go, I'll come and find you."

She looked up at him, trying to reply, but before she could form the words, he cupped her breast in his hand and she wailed with surprise and pleasure, arching her body into his as she came, triggering his climax too and he collapsed on top of her.

He kissed her hair as he recovered, caressing her face.

"I don't want you to go," was the first thing he said to her, "Stay here."

She looked up at him, smoothing her hands down his biceps as he cradled her.

"I don't want to leave you either," she told him. There was a pause. "I have a week until I have to be in London for my next posting. I'm volunteering for three months at the infirmary."

"I envy you," he told her, "I have a lot on my hands just to manage the estate. I'd forgotten what work it is to be at the village hospital every day and keep on top of this place. It wasn't so bad when I was younger and fitter but now it's getting quite a strain. Perhaps I should give it up altogether and open a general practice for minor ailments."

"I don't know, I've been rather impressed by your fitness over the last few hours," she told him, smiling playfully, brushing her hand against his chest.

He smiled down at her.

"You, Grace Carter, are good for my ego," he bent down, kissing her lips, "You'll go to my head."

Her eyes twinkled and he smiled at her again.

"I love you," she whispered, unable to say anything else.

"I love you too," he told her.

They kissed again.

"Stay," he whispered as their lips parted, "It isn't as though we don't have the room for you."

"What will Hetty say?" she asked him.

"Who cares what Hetty says?"

"I care," she told him, "I can't stay in a house where I'm not wanted, Roland."

"You are wanted," he told her quietly, "You have no idea how much you are wanted by me."

"Oh, I think I might have some idea," she murmured in reply, smiling at him, "But really. I don't want to cause trouble for you, not if I can help it. Please at least ask Hetty if I can stay," she asked him before he could say anything else.

"Alright," he told her, "I'll ask her. But you promise you'll stay?"

She laughed a little at his eagerness.

"If she says I can, yes," she answered, "Of course I will."

"Good," he replied, "Or I would simply have to keep you prisoner in this room. Because I don't know how I'm going to live without you, Grace, not after this."

She swallowed, stroking his face with her hand.

"We'll find a way," she told him quietly, "If I'm to be kept in sane mind, we'll have to."

"I could never have given you up if we'd made love in France," he told her softly.

"Did you ever think we would?" she asked him curiously, "I know there were times when I imagined what it would have been like."

"I wanted to," he confessed, "I never imagined that we could. I still don't know what someone as wonderful as you is doing with someone like me."

"Enough of that," she told him sternly, "I won't have any more of that sort of talk," leaning up to kiss him swiftly on the lips, "So it was me, then?" she asked him, referring to the conversation they had had yesterday, but which now seemed like years ago, "Your imagined adulteress?"

"Always you, Grace. Always you. No one else."

Their lips met again and she sighed in contentment.

"Sweetheart, I don't want to go, but won't people start to wonder if we don't show our faces downstairs?" she asked him.

"At least one of us should," he agreed, sounding unhappy about it, "Are you hungry?"

"A little," she admitted, "I didn't manage to eat much last night. Someone rather distracted me."

"I'm sorry," he told her, brushing her hair with his hand.

"No, not you, that idiot Purbright was next to me and he wouldn't shut up."

He snorted with laughter.

"In which case, I'm even more sorry for you," he told her, "You go to breakfast. I'll stay here."

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"I locked the door to my bedroom before I came here," he told her, "For all anyone can tell, I'm in there having a late morning after the party. Just lock this door as you go, so none of the maids walks in. I'll be alright," he glanced at the clock on her bedside table, "By now I imagine I'll have to wait until everyone is at lunch before I can leave unobserved anyway."

"If you're sure," she asked him, standing up and beginning to dress.

"Of course I'm sure," he told her, "And after lunch I will tell Hetty that you're staying until next week. Alright!" he corrected himself hastily as she flashed him a murderous look over the collar of the blouse she had just pulled over her head, "I'll ask her, then. And Grace," he told her as stooped a little to straighten out her skirt.

"What?" she asked.

"Do be quick and come back to me."

She smiled at him, hastily running her brusk through her tousled hair, flitting back to the side of the bed and kissing his lips quickly.

"I won't be long," she promised him.

"Don't forget to lock the door," he reminded her.

She grinned at him softly, rather than remarking that she seemed to have made him her prisoner, scooping the key off the bedside table as she made for the door. She was still smiling a little as she pulled the door to and locked it.

"Good morning," she whipped around at the sound of a female voice just behind her. She tried not to gasp out loud in surprise.

It was Evelyn, Alexander's now official fiancee, looking as pretty, if more relaxed, as she had in full evening dress last night.

"Good morning," Grace replied softly.

"You must be Miss Carter," she enquired, "Colonel Brett's friend."

Grace tried to apprehend whether or not Evelyn was using the word ironically, after all she had been in the room next to them all night- she willed herself not to turn bright scarlet- but she did not seem anything but sincere.

"That's right," Grace replied, "I know who you are, of course. Many congratulations."

"Thank you," Evelyn replied, "Are you going to breakfast?"

"Yes," Grace replied.

"I'm sorry I didn't have the chance to speak to you last night," Evelyn told her as they made their way down the stairs.

"I had an early night," Grace told her, determined to keep a straight face, "I'm afraid social gatherings have never been my forte."

"I quite understand," Evelyn replied, "I did so admire your dress, though."

"Thank you," Grace replied, "As I said, I'm rather unused to events such as this. I'm glad you found me presentable."

Evelyn beamed her approval at her. In her manner, she reminded Grace somewhat of Flora Marshall and it rather endeared her to her. She smiled inwardly to herself. For three long years, Grace would have been very surprised indeed to be told that she would ever find Marshall's qualities endearing.

They entered the dining room together and Evelyn excused herself to sit beside her father. Grace was about to turn to find a seat, but again she was stopped by a voice from over her shoulder.

"Oh, Miss Carter, I'm so glad to have caught you."

It was Hetty. Roland's wife was wearing a rather fetching blue suit and jacket. Grace was taken aback to see her, least of all because she knew many married women chose not to take breakfast with the rest of the household.

"Would you do me the favour of sitting next to me, there is something I would like to ask you?"

Something very close to fear froze in Grace's throat.

"Of course," she managed to say, sinking in the chair beside Hetty.

"Just toast, please, and coffee," she told the footman who came to ask what she would like.

"I'm sorry we haven't had the chance to become better acquainted," Hetty told her when Grace's breakfast had arrived, "I hope you'll forgive me, there has been so much to arrange up until now."

"I quite understand," Grace replied quietly.

"I do feel as if I've rather missed a fine opportunity," Hetty continued, "My husband speaks so highly of you."

Grace looked down at her coffee. She did not know what to say. Either Hetty knew exactly what had happened between her and Roland and was exposing her rather slowly and cruelly or else she knew nothing and suspected nothing.

"What I want to ask you is whether or not you would consider staying with us a little while longer?" Hetty asked her, "I know it may seem otherwise at times, Miss Carter, but I notice when my husband is unhappy. And his spirits have been higher recently than they have in a long time, and I can only put that down to the presence of his old friends. I tried to prevail upon Captain Gillan earlier to see if he could be persuaded to stay, but I'm afraid the man wanted to get back to his wife. Quite understandable, of course, but now it means that I'm rather relying upon you to take up my offer, Miss Carter."

Grace could hardly believe her ears. Surely this could not be happening.

"I have to be in London this time next week," she told her at last, "I start a posting at the London Infirmary then."

"But you will stay until then?" Hetty prompted her.

"If it's agreeable to you," she replied.

"Oh, Grace, it would be very agreeable to me indeed. You don't mind me calling you Grace?"

"No, I don't," she told her, "Not at all."

She could hardly speak. Her heart was racing, both with the nearness she had briefly sensed to total discovery and the thrill of what she could hardly believe she was being offered.

Hetty smiled at her.

"I am greatly in your debt," she told her, "Please excuse me, I will go and inform the housekeeper that your room needs to be tended to this week."

"Could you," Grace spoke before she'd entirely formed the thought in her mind, "Could you ask that I be undisturbed until lunchtime today? I had packed my belongings," she explained hurriedly, "If it's alright, I'd like some time to arrange them for the week."

"Of course," Hetty smiled, "My husband told me you were admirably organised. I'll see that you're not disturbed."

Grace stared down at her half-eaten piece of toast as Hetty left the room, hardly able to believe the lies she'd so easily concocted. Apart from anything else, her modest trunk and what needed to be packed into it hadn't even crossed her mind the previous evening.

Not long afterwards, she left the table. She found she was no longer hungry, and the burdensome issue of how welcome she was here was miraculously lifted. She was hard-pressed to stop herself running up the stairs back to her room; she fumbled the key in the lock and all but burst through the door.

The door clicked behind her and she hastily locked it again. Good to his word, Roland was lying there, covered by her bed sheet, waiting for her.

The delighted look on her face told him all that he needed to know.

"She's asked you to stay?" he asked, almost disbelievingly.

She nodded silently, beaming from ear to ear.

He reached out his arms for her.

"Come back to bed, Grace."

Eagerly, she did as she was bidden.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	10. Chapter 10

"Do you and Hetty have some sort of an arrangement?" she asked him later that afternoon, as they walked the path around the lily pond, the sky just beginning to darken. The light fading and the heavy branches of the trees bowing low and hiding them from view of the house, they were walking hand in hand.

"Other than being married, you mean?" he asked her, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes," she replied, pretending to glare at him, "I mean some sort of arrangement that I don't know about, where you've both agreed the other can take lovers. Well," she prompted him, seeing his smile, "Do you?"

"I can see why you'd think that," he told her honestly, "Given recent occurrences, and not so recent ones, in Hetty's case. But, no, we don't. Or at least if we do, it's certainly an unspoken one."

Grace frowned.

"What is it?" he asked her.

"I just can't help but think it's odd, that she asked me to stay," she told him, "It was almost as if she knew what had happened."

"Did she say that she did?" he asked her.

"No," she replied.

"Then I'll stake my life she doesn't," he told her, "Subtlety's not Hetty's strong card."

Grace smiled.

"It's still odd," she insisted.

"Do you really care why she did?" he asked her frankly, "Because to be honest with you, Grace, I don't care what Hetty is thinking at the moment as long as you and I are still together."

She squeezed his hand a little.

"I know I shouldn't care," she told him.

"Put it out of your mind," he told her softly. Their pace had slowed to a halt, "Grace, I have so little time with you. I don't want to spend it all talking about Hetty."

"Sorry," she whispered, slipping her arm around him to stroke the back of his neck with her fingers.

"It's alright," he murmured in reply, "Don't ever be sorry, Grace, not to me. You're too modest to realise how much of your presence I want to command."

His hand rested on her hip, stroking the line of her bone gently with his thumb. She knew if they did not move now she would lean in and kiss him.

"We should keep walking," she murmured, somehow managing to tear her eyes away.

"You're probably right," he replied quietly.

They were walking out of the thickest part of the trees and by silent consensus they seemed to decide it was safer to walk arm in arm. They were not so concerned about safety that they could cease touching all together.

"Now that you mention arrangements, though, I think there are some things I need to make clear to you."

She was quiet for a moment. His tone was serious. Her hand tightened a little on his arm without thinking about it. Seeming to sense her anxiety, he brought his other arm across his body, stroking her fingers a little to soothe her. Their pace came to a halt again.

"I meant what I said last night," he told her, "I am prepared to leave Hetty. For you. And marry you. If that's what you want."

She looked into his eyes.

"Really?" she asked. Somehow, her voice was having difficulty leaving her throat.

"Yes," he told her seriously, looking into her eyes, "Oh my love, please tell me you're crying because you're happy, or I don't think this bodes well for us."

She smiled at him through welling eyes.

"Yes, I'm crying because I'm happy!" she told him, "Why else?"

He smiled, taking out his pocket handkerchief and giving it to her.

"Here."

She took it and dabbed at her eyes.

"Keep it. Please."

She smiled at him, tucking it away in her pocket.

"An engagement handkerchief?" she asked him smiling.

"If you like," he told her, "Because the thing is that you're going to have to wait for a ring."

"I don't need a ring," she told him firmly, "I only need you."

"Well, you see, you're going to have to wait for me, too," he told her, "To marry you, that is. The problem is that I can't leave Hetty until Alex marries Evelyn. Otherwise Evelyn's parents may object and stop them going through with the wedding. I can't be responsible for my son missing his chance to be happily married just because my own marriage has been a sham. It would be utterly unfair. Do you understand that, Grace?"

She nodded firmly.

"Of course I understand, Roland," she replied, "You wouldn't be the man I love if it weren't so important to you to do right by everyone."

"And I will do right by you, Grace," he promised her.

"I know you will," she told him, "I trust you absolutely."

They walked on a little way in silence.

"I wasn't your first lover," he stated calmly after a while.

She looked at him in surprise.

"Not that I'm in a position to know, but I doubt many virgins make love like you do, Grace Carter."

"I'm not the first woman you've been with either," she reminded him pointedly.

"it wasn't an accusation," he told her softly, "Or an attempt to pry. I just-… wondered."

"No, you're right," she told him simply, "You weren't."

"Did you love him?" he asked, "Were you happy with him? I don't require you to say now I'm genuinely asking."

"I loved him as much as I knew how to at the time," she told him after a moment, "I was young. And yes, I was happy with him."

He nodded.

"I'm glad," he told her sincerely, "I'd hate to think of anyone making you unhappy. Do you mind me asking you?"

"No," she told him, "Not at all. After all, I know about you."

"What there is to know, anyway," he smiled ruefully, "There was very little of any interest before you came along."

They walked along in silence for a few moments, except for the breeze through the plants.

"I have to tell you," she said at last, coming to a halt once more, "I feel it would be dishonest of me not to tell you now. I had a child. In India. She did not survive. I've been told it was better that she didn't. Her father, Amar, was Indian. She wouldn't have been able to live a life that was anywhere near normal."

He was quiet for a moment.

"You know, Freddie looked like me, Grace," he told her, a little abruptly, his eyes lingering on her hand on his arm, "He had dark hair and brown eyes and people said he had my nose as well. I know Alex is not my son, but he is," he told her, "We've both been shamed by the world because of our children, you for the one you bore and I for the one that I didn't. We don't love them any the less for it, and I certainly don't love you the less. I love you more. You're so brave. Thank you for telling me."

"Roland," her voice shook and he reached into her pocket, pulling out his handkerchief for her again.

"Sweetheart," he ran his thumb over the back of her hand, caressing her skin softly, "Is anyone looking?" he asked her a moment later.

"I don't think so," she told him, "Why?"

"Because I don't think I could love you more than I do in this moment. And I'm going to kiss you."

His lips brushed briefly but sensuously against hers.

"We'll have to be more careful than that," she told him warningly, looking up at him, unable to stop herself from smiling.

"Come on, then," he told her, grinning at her, "I'll race you back to your room."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	11. Chapter 11

**I don't know why I'm so nervous about this chapter. **

As that night drew in, they retired early, separately, professing to each feel worn out after a day of walking. No one questioned, or even seemed to notice them. As Roland slipped quietly through the door to Grace's room, some fifteen minutes later, she had changed into her dressing gown and was running a bath.

"Will Hetty not notice that you're sleeping in here?" she felt compelled to ask him, not waiting for him to answer before she began unbuttoning his shirt.

The water in the bath was hot, steaming up the mirror, condensing against the tiles, and making the fabric of his shirt damp with warmth between her fingers.

"Do Hetty and I strike you as the kind of couple who sleep in the same room?" he asked her quietly, brushing his lips against her cheek, in to the ends of her damp hair.

"Not exactly," she replied, smiling a little, kissing his cheek gently.

"Christ, Grace, it's hot in here," he murmured as her fingers undid his belt and opened his trousers.

"Don't you like it?" she asked him quietly, slipping her hands away from his middle, soothing the pad of either of her thumbs over the inside of his wrists, feeling the sweat that was forming on his skin out of the high temperature and his growing arousal, "I forget that I can probably stand the heat better than most."

"No, I like it," he murmured, his hands reaching for her waist, undoing the belt of her dressing gown and slipping his hands inside to touch her bare skin, "I like it very much. It was just a surprise."

Her dressing gown slipped off her shoulders and fell to the floor. They kissed, open-mouthed, their bodies pressed together, sticky with heat.

Their foreheads rested together as they broke apart.

"Take your trousers off and get in the bath," she told him.

He did as she told him at first, pushing his trousers and underpants to the ground with the rest of their abandoned clothes. She gave a little yelp of surprise as she felt his hand behind her knee and he scooped her up, lifting her into the bath before stepping in himself. It was his turn to gasp in surprise.

"Jesus, Grace."

"If it's too hot, you've got the taps there," she told him.

"Is it alright for you?" he asked her.

"Absolutely," she told him, leaning back against the end of the bath.

"Then I suppose I'll get used to it," he told her.

Their legs lay wrapped together where they met in the middle of the bath.

"This has been the best day of my life," he told her quietly.

She smiled.

"Of mine too," she replied.

He sat forwards, away from the taps, his hand brushing against her leg under the water. She sighed in contentment as his thumb caressed the top of her calf, the bottom curve of her knee, nothing more. For her there was something deeply sensual in extreme heat alone; she could barely admit even to herself how thrilled she had been that he had arrived just as the water was ready. A memory swam to the surface of her mind; a blistering day in India, lying with her body pressed against Amar's, oil all over their vibrant, youthful flesh. The excitement had been intense, but impetuously acted upon and almost hastily brought to completion. The intensity, the slowness, the aching gradualness of this was heady beyond belief.

His eyes were exploring her face at rest, seeming to drink in every detail.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, seeming to savour every word, "I'm going to marry you."

She felt the smile spreading across her face.

"Yes," she whispered, "And every day can be like this."

"Every day," he confirmed, "How long is your posting in London?"

"Three months," she told him.

There was a moment of silence. There was one question she very much wanted to know the answer to, and at the same time was daunted about hearing.

"What do you want to know?" he asked her.

She exhaled a long breath, smiling.

"How long do you think it will be before Alexander and Evelyn can get married?" she asked seriously.

"I heard mention of six months," he told her.

"And then we can be together?"

'Then we can be together," he confirmed, "I'll sort things out with Hetty. She shouldn't have grounds to complain, I intend to let her keep this house. Yes," he told her, seeing her face, "For all of it's beauty, it holds many memories than I would be happy to move away from. And then we can go anywhere you want to."

"Anywhere?" she asked.

"Yes," he told her, "We could go back to India, if you wanted."

"I don't know," she told him, smiling, "Would you be able to stand the heat?"

"I would manage, for you."

Her smile dwindled and faded as she repeated; "I don't know. Like you, beauty, memories."

He nodded silently, taking her hand.

"I understand," he told her.

There was another moment of quiet.

"Where do you fancy?" he asked her smiling, brushing his hand gently against her knee.

She thought for a second.

"France," she told him, and then a second later, "Does that sound like madness if we're trying to hide from memories?"

"No," he replied, "It was in France that I first fell in love."

Their eyes met.

"At least we both speak French," she added, through the lump forming in her throat.

"That too," he agreed.

An idea seemed to strike him all of a sudden.

"Are you assuming that I want to leave England, Grace?" he asked her seriously.

She took another moment's thought, interrogating her mental processes.

"Maybe I am," she conceded. Her eyes lingered on the surface of the water, undisturbed in their stillness.

"Do you think I'm ashamed of what we're doing?" he asked her.

"I don't know," she replied, and then, "I see why you might be."

"Grace," he murmured in a low voice, "Leaving Hetty for you is the single decision of which I am most proud. You have no idea how frustrated I am that I can't let anyone know yet."

"I understand," she told him.

"I know you do, but I'm still so sorry that I have to do it," he promised her, "And I will make it up to you in any way I can."

She smiled as their eyes met again. There was a moment of heady silence. Then, swiftly, she sat forwards, sending a slight ripple around the edge of the bath.

"Go and get the towel," she told him quietly.

In the moment before he stood up to obey her command, she saw a smile widening across his face. As he came back to her, holding the towel, she stood up, allowing him to wrap her up in it.

"There isn't one for you," she told him, stepping out of the bath, spreading her arms and wrapping them around him so that he too was folded away in the warm fabric.

She felt him bury his face in her damp hair. Their bodies were still exquisitely warm.

"Come to bed?" she murmured against his chest.

He looked down at her, his hands cupping her cheeks.

"Anything you want, my love," he told her quietly, "Anything at all."

**Please review if you have the time.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Apologies for the short chapter, I've been a little bit ill and my brain isn't working at full speed.**

They were in his car, speeding down the road as the morning brightened around them. Maisy had been good enough to fetch them a flask of tea and some sandwiches, as the whim to go away for the day seized them before breakfast was ready.

He was a good driver, fast but fully in control. She enjoyed it a the wind pushed through her short hair, sending it flying behind her. She saw him turn to her and smile at the look of pleasure on her face.

"Good to get out," he remarked.

""Yes," she agreed.

"Have you decided where you fancy going yet?"

"I've told you I don't mind," she replied, "You decide."

"Then I'm taking you to Oxford," he told her, "It's not far at all. You can see where I misspent my youth."

"Did you really?" she questioned him, "I find that difficult to imagine."

He smiled, slowing the car to turn around a corner in the road.

"I frittered away more time than I'd care to admit to," he answered, "I spent a lot more time in a boat on the river or on the cricket field than I did in the library. That was before I took up medicine, of course."

"Before?" she asked, "I didn't know you did anything before medicine?"

"Didn't I tell you?" he asked her, "My first degree is in philosophy. Then I trained at medical school in London. It was always what I planned to do. `My parents always hoped I'd change my mind, I think, right up until the point that I matriculated. It was a considerable relief to them that I actually did go to medical school after that. But like I say, it was always what i wanted to do. I wanted to learn about the people I was caring for, and then how to care for them."

Her elbow rested on the side of the car door, her head resting on her hand as she listened to him.

"You were an obscenely wise adolescent, then," she told him.

He laughed out loud.

"Hardly," he told her, a rueful smile spreading across his face, "More pretension than genuine wisdom. I spent the first two years at least swanning around spending money on grand clothes and expensive meals."

"That doesn't sound like misspending," she told him, "It sounds like you were happy."

"I was," he confirmed. There was a moment's pause. "It couldn't last though," he continued, "I soon began to bore even myself with my extravagance, and more than once I was in trouble with my father for frittering away my allowance. I was remarkably impressed and quite relieved that neither of my sons went that way. It's why I've never blamed Hetty for her expensive tastes."

"You must find me very provincial," she reflected.

"Of course I do," he grinned wickedly, "And I adore you with every bone in my body."

She smiled out of the window. She knew he saw her, and she heard him breathe, deeply and contentedly.

"It's good to get out," he repeated, "That house was starting to feel like a prison."

"Quite a picturesque one, nonetheless," she remarked.

"Believe me, Grace, sometimes that doesn't make any difference at all," he told her, suddenly serious, "Particularly not with that house."

There was a pause for a moment.

"You would know," she replied softly, "I'm sorry."

"Don't you be sorry," he told her, "It's you who is letting me out, at last."

"You should have told me sooner," she told him, "I would have come at any time."

He looked regretful, his hands shifting a little on the steering wheel.

"I know that now," he replied, "I wish I had."

Gently, so as not to distract him, she caressed his hand with hers, brushing her fingers over his gloved knuckles.

"No more wasted time," she murmured, "No more."

"No," he agreed, smiling at her, "Only us."

The fact that it was probably going to be five months before Alexander was safely married was not lost on her, but she said nothing. They continued in silence for some time. Looking out of the window, Grace watched the countryside whipping past them.

"We're nearly there," he told her at last, "Where would you like to go?"

"I don't know," she told him, and then, "Take me to the college you and the boys went to."

"Well, that will be difficult, given that we all went to different ones," he told her. When she looked surprised, he explained, "Yes, it is usual for sons to follow their fathers to college. But, as you know, my sons don't exactly take after me in the usual way."

She saw a tightening in his jaw, and she soothed her hand over his wrist, trying to comfort him. His face softened at her gesture and a moment later he smiled at her.

"My college was found to be a bit too humble for Hetty's children. I was at University College, it's a tiny little think off the High Street. She managed to get Freddie into Balliol, like her father, and Alexander really surpassed himself and went to Christ Church."

Grace was quiet for a few moments.

"Darling," he asked her, "What are you thinking?"

"That if we have a son, we'll send him where you went."

He met her eyes and smiled at her as the car reached the Magdalen Bridge and entered the city.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	13. Chapter 13

"I gather you have been claiming quite a lot of my husband's time, Miss Carter."

Grace was hard-pressed not to choke on her coffee as Hetty sat down beside her on the couch. They had just had dinner, and they had had gone with Evelyn into the drawing room to wait for the men to finish their port and cigars.

A moment later, though, Hetty smiled.

"You needn't look so startled," she told her, "It's what I asked you to stay for."

Grace gave her a hesitant smiled, trying to calm her pounding heart.

"I hear you were in Oxford yesterday?"

"Yes, we were," Grace replied, adding, "Roland was kind enough to show me around the city."

"Hadn't you been before?"

"No."

"And how did you find it?" Hetty asked.

"It was beautiful."

"Did you think so?" Hetty questioned her, "The weather must have been good. In the rain it's the gloomiest place I've ever seen. It's as if the buildings retain the cold."

"It was warm yesterday," Grace confirmed.

A memory swam before her eyes; touching him in the warm of the street as they moved between the stone buildings. Feeling the aching growing between them. Holding his hand in public, not caring who saw them, swept up by a kind of madness, that propelled them in the direction of the nearest hotel. Making love on top of the satin bedspread, tearing at each other's clothes to feel the other's skin.

"I suppose it was quite quiet," Hetty remarked, "It being the Long Vacation."

The window had been open, the white curtain fluttering in the breeze as they moved together. The light caressed them as their hands and mouths wandered everywhere.

"Yes," she answered, "Very quiet."

She tried not to flush as she remembered the wail of completion she knew she had given when she arched against his mouth as he kissed her intimately.

"I remember when the boys were there-… Are you alright, my dear?" Hetty asked abruptly, looking at Grace with concern, "You seem to be trembling."

Grace stirred herself. Really, she was beginning to think that she did not have the particular kind of nerve that adulterous affairs obviously required.

"Yes, I'm fine," Grace told her, "I think I'm just tired."

"Here," Hetty took the cup of coffee from her hands, "Be careful not to burn yourself. You need a brandy," she told her, indicating to the footman, who swiftly delivered the drink.

"Thank you," Grace accepted the glass, taking a sip.

"I think perhaps an early night is in order," Hetty told her, "Which is a shame, as you look so lovely tonight. You caught quite a few people's eye, I'm sure of it. That is a new dress, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Grace told her, "I got it in Oxford."

Of course, Roland had bought it for her. He had insisted.

"I've been funding my wife's various whims for years," he had told her quietly, "Why shouldn't I buy you something nice?"

In fact, she had been hard-pressed to stop him buying her half the town. Everything she needed for her posting in London, he had insisted on buying her, and making sure she had the best quality that could be found.

"You know, you were never this extravagant before," she had teased him quietly, "Perhaps it's being back in the seat of your misspent youth."

"Perhaps," he agreed, but then, a moment later, "But this is different. I consider your material wellbeing a very sound investment indeed."

"We mustn't tire you out before you go to London," Hetty remarked, "I gather you'll be working quite hard when you get there."

"No more than usual," Grace smiled ruefully.

"I must say I'm relieved that Alexander has chosen the law as a career, then dear Evelyn might stand a chance of seeing him through the week, mightn't you dear?" she smiled indulgently in Evelyn's direction, who smiled and said nothing. Turning back to Grace, Hetty continued, "I do have the greatest admiration for the energy all of you medics put into your work. It's all very well for a man, but I don't think I would be able to face anything like it."

"You get used to it," Grace told her, "I always knew this was what I wanted to do."

"Yes, Roland says the same. Well, you're all a peculiar sort, but I daresay none of us could manage without you. It's good to have you here," Hetty lowered her voice a little, "Between you and me, I think it does Roland good to have someone around who understands him. I mean, I generally know what he is thinking, but haven't the faintest idea why he is thinking it."

Grace took a deep drink of brandy. If Hetty really did know what Roland was thinking, then there was nothing either of them could do.

"I'm not sure," Grace told her softly, "I don't think my understanding of him extends to the psychic."

Hetty smiled at her.

"Even so, I think you've a better idea than the rest of us."

Well that was probably true. Grace took another drink.

"Speaking of which, I've been meaning to ask you, is there something between Roland and Colonel Purbright that I don't know about? I've asked both of them, and neither will overtly say a word against the other, at least not to me. But I'm not stupid. Something went on in France. I do wish I knew. I was such good friends with his mother."

"There were some disagreements between the two of them," Grace told her, "About particular cases of treatment and discipline."

"I imagine that was difficult for you," Hetty mused.

"Not extraordinarily," Grace replied.

"Did you know his wife died?" Hetty asked her, "Spanish Flu. Not long after he returned from France. Terribly sad. He blamed himself, of course, I think all medical men do when their loved ones die. I had hoped you would find a little time to spend with him while you were both here."

Suddenly, it all made sense; his being put by her and Tom at dinner, Hetty's invitation for her to stay, her observations about the affinity between people who chose to spend their lives caring, and her obviously growing dismay that Grace was spending her time with Roland and away from his guests. Roland had been wrong about one thing, though, Hetty's subtly was more highly refined than he had given her credit for. It seemed that Grace had been supposed to intuitively know that she was being kept here for the purpose of consoling Purbright. The whole thing was so ridiculous that Grace found it a struggle not to laugh out loud.

"Lady Brett," Grace told her quietly, "I think I catch your meaning. I can assure you there is not the slightest attraction between Colonel Purbright and myself."

Hetty raised her eyebrow at her.

"Many a companionable union is built upon less," she replied.

"Do you think so?" Grace asked, "Do you really think so?"

There was a silence.

"Evelyn, dear, do play us something on the piano," Hetty asked her.

"Don't on my account," Grace told her, "I'm sorry but I think you're right. I should have an early night. I think the brandy might have gone to my head."

"I think it may have, dear. Do go."

"Will you apologise to the gentlemen for me when they come through?" Grace asked.

"Of course I will. Should I sent Maisy up to light the fire?"

"No," Grace told her, "Thank you."

She left the drawing room and made her way up the stairs, completely incredulous about what had just happened. What had just happened?, she asked herself. At least she could be sure of one thing; Hetty did not suspect her of having an affair with Roland. Unless she was hoping that she could divert her attentions by pushing her at Purbright. Purbright! The whole thing was too absurd. She let herself quietly into her room and let her hair down. She was tired. She did not notice it when Roland was there, but she was exhausted.

By the time she had finished pottering around, getting ready for bed, there was a tap at the door.

"Come in," she called, a little apprehensively, imagining for one mad moment Purbright sent up here on some mad pretence by Hetty.

Of course, it was not. It was Roland.

"Hetty said you'd gone to bed early," he told her, shutting the door behind himself, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," she told him, "I'm just a little tired."

"I'm sorry," he told her, caressing her head with his hand, "I suppose I haven't really been letting you get enough sleep."

She grinned at him.

"Don't apologise for that," she climb into bed, "Come on, if you're staying, get in and hold me."

He smiled, and obediently stripped down to his undershorts, slipping into bed beside her and pulling her into his arms. She snuggled against his chest, soothed by the warmth and by the firm hold of his limbs.

"You know, I think your wife just suggested that I marry Colonel Purbright," she told him quietly.

"Really?" he asked, "And what did you say?"

"Oh, I accepted," she told him, kissing his chest sleepily, "She's going to be matron of honour."

He laughed, kissing the top of her head and stroking her arms gently.

There was silence for a few moments.

"Grace?"

"Mm?" she answered dozily.

"Please don't marry Colonel Purbright."

"Alright," she told him quietly, "For you, I won't."

He kissed her again and they both drifted off to sleep in one another's arms.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	14. Chapter 14

"Miss Carter. Would you have tea with me?"

Grace stopped at Evelyn's invitation, having been about to open the door to her room.

"That would be very kind of you," she answered at last.

Evelyn held open the door to her room, where Grace saw tea had already been brought up and placed by the table and sofa at one side of the room.

"Do sit down," Evelyn told her, walking over to the window herself, and picking up a silver cigarette case off the window seat, "Cigarette?"

"No, thank you," Grace told her.

There was something very different about Evelyn today to what Grace had hitherto seen of her. For one thing, she was used to seeing her in all array of beautiful evening gowns whereas now she wore a thick grey cardigan and skirt. Her hair which was usually elaborately adorn and tumbling all over the place was pulled into a long plait, under a broad black velvet headband. She put a cigarette to her own delicate lips.

"Do you mind if I do?" she asked, fishing a silver lighter out of her pocket.

"It's your room," Grace told her.

She smiled, taking the cigarette out of her mouth, putting it back in the case and burying case and lighter back in her pocket. Whatever anyone said about her intelligence, Grace thought, she could certainly take a hint.

"I suppose I ought to listen to you, Miss Carter," she told her, smiling, perching on the window seat, "You are a nurse after all."

"Call me Grace," she told her, without knowing exactly why.

Evelyn smiled again.

"Thank you," she replied, and then, a moment later, "I love your hair."

Grace smiled, remembering the last person who had told her that.

"Thank you," she replied softly.

"I'm going to get mine done like that," she told her, "In December. As soon as I'm married."

"You're getting married in December?" Grace asked before she could stop herself, doing a quick mental calculation. Surely December wasn't six months away?

"Yes," Evelyn replied, "Which suits me down to the ground, to have it brought forward a month. And Lady Brett is over the moon too, of course. We've set the date, we did it yesterday. The week before Christmas."

"I'm sure that will be lovely," Grace remarked.

"I'm surprised Colonel Brett didn't tell you," Evelyn told her, "But then, he has seemed rather diverted from the wedding plans, particularly since the engagement was announced at the party."

Grace said nothing. Instead she focussed very carefully on pouring a cup of tea for herself.

"Would you like one?" she asked Evelyn.

"In a moment, thank you," she replied, "Do you think you'll be able to come to the wedding?"

"I don't know," Grace replied, "I hadn't given it any thought. I didn't presume that I'd be invited."

"Oh, I'm sure Alexander's father will want you there."

"Really," Grace attempted bravely to bluff her way out, but she had a feeling her voice would not hold out, "What makes you say that?"

"Listen, Grace, I know. For goodness sakes, I have the room next to you and you and Colonel Brett may be many admirable things, but you're not quiet."

Grace felt herself flush a deep crimson colour and began, barely coherently to apologise.

"Oh, don't worry, I've heard much worse."

Grace nearly spluttered on her tea.

"And I heard that your upbringing was conservative."

"Well, up to a point," Evelyn conceded, "Once you sent a girl to Lady Margret Hall you can only plead conservatism so far."

"You were at Oxford?" Grace questioned, remembering one of the names that Roland had mentioned as they walked around.

"Lady Brett didn't tell you?" Evelyn smiled, "I didn't think she would. I don't even know if she's told Colonel Brett. And mother and father are very keen not to mention it, of course, but I was able to fund it myself, you see, through a legacy from a great aunt. I have the equivalent of a Bachelor's degree in Mathematics," she told her quite conversationally, "Not that I'm allowed to receive that degree, of course. Which would have been a first, incidentally. I met Alex in Oxford.I expect you've probably been told that I'm stupid, Miss Carter. Well, I assure you, I'm not."

"Why are you only telling me this now?" Grace asked.

"As a convenient way of getting you to listen to me," Evelyn replied, "And because, essentially, what the Brett's want for their son is a stupid wife. Well, I'm not so sure about Alex's father, but his mother certainly. One to do as she's told and make him feel like he's in charge. That's what she wants for her son, and so, until December, that's what I'll be."

Grace was truly taken aback. Ruefully, she thought that Roland could have learned a few tricks from this girl when he'd first been confronted with the prospect of marrying Hetty. Though the cases were not similar, she had no doubt that Evelyn would have thought of something to do.

"And why do you want me to listen to you?" Grace asked her, "I promise you, you have my attention."

"I want to tell you, that is to ask you to be careful. For both our sakes."

Grace opened her mouth to respond.

"Of course you are, I know, but you weren't so careful that I couldn't tell," Evelyn reminded her, "And if my parents were to find out that both Colonel Brett and Lady Brett are being unfaithful to one another, I think that might just push their natural propensity to object over the line. I don't imagine I need to tell you why you ought to be careful for your own sake too. I just ask you to consider mine as well."

Grace was quiet. Evelyn smiled at her gently as she got up to make herself a cup of tea.

"I'm not trying to be a nosey little madam," she told her, smiling at her quite sadly, "And I'm not trying to be rude or unkind to you. Although I know you probably feel that I've probably failed miserably on all counts."

"No, I don't," Grace replied.

"I'm glad," Evelyn replied, "Anyway, I considered it a risk worth taking."

There was a short pause.

"There was a girl," Evelyn said slowly, seeming to consider her words more carefully now, "At college who got into trouble. A very particular sort of trouble. I know you're a nurse and you probably know an awful lot more about it than me, but I would hate for what happened to her to happen to you. He didn't want anything to do with her, you see."

"Thank you," Grace told her quietly, "But I don't think that will be a problem for me."

She saw Evelyn's eyebrow raise a fraction, and knew that that was probably what her young friend in Oxford had thought too.

"I don't think it will," Grace repeated firmly, "You're right, I do know more about this than you. But not because I'm a nurse. Because I've been that girl before."

She was not sure what compelled her to tell Evelyn as much, she had only ever told Amar, Margaret and now Roland. But she trusted her, trusted her to use this palpable honest she seemed to possess discretely, and was relieved when she simply replied, "Ah, I see."

There was quiet for a few moments.

"I don't think you've been unkind," Grace told her, at last, "And I appreciate your forwardness. Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Of course not," Evelyn replied, "Anything."

"Do you think Lady Brett knows about me and Roland?"

If anyone had an confident answer, she thought, it was probably this girl.

"I don't think so," she replied, "I think she would tell you." There was another slight pause. "Of course, I should say, you needn't worry about me telling her. I won't give you away."

Grace nodded.

"Thank you," she replied, "That's very kind of you."

"Although I would appreciate it if you would go to Colonel Brett's room every once in a while."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	15. Chapter 15

"She said what?"

Roland looked up at her in considerable disbelief, perched on the edge of her bed. Grace smiled at him, sitting down beside him.

"Don't worry," she told him, "She was very kind about it. And she said she doesn't think Hetty knows about us, and I do trust her judgement. But I think maybe we should find somewhere else."

He continued to look annoyed for a moment, but then his frown faded into a look of light amusement that was similar to her own.

"Goodness, I'm sorry," he told her, "It must have been terribly embarrassing for you."

"It wasn't as bad as you'd think," she replied, "I get the feeling she's had conversations like that before."

Roland raised his eyebrows a little.

"I think we'd be better off not knowing what those young people get up to in Oxford," he remarked.

"Why do we care when we have enough to get up to ourselves?" she asked, winding her arms around his neck.

He smiled against her lips.

"Good point," he told her before his mouth devoured hers.

She groaned, falling back onto the mattress but the sound reminded her.

"We'd better find somewhere else," she pushed him away with a gentle hand on his chest.

"You're probably right," he agreed ruefully, sitting back up.

"Your room?" she asked.

He looked doubtful.

"Hetty's next door."

"Ah," she replied, letting out a sigh a moment later, resting her hand on her forehead.

He smiled a little at her frustration. Leaning over her, he kissed her cheek, lying down beside her again and wrapping his arm around her waist.

"It's alright," he told her, "We'll find somewhere. At least I have you here."

The statement seemed to weigh heavily with the knowledge that in a few days time he would not have her there. She stroked her thumb over the back of his hand.

"Would you be able to come and see me in London?" she asked him, a little tentatively, "On the days when I have leave?"

"Telephone me with all of the dates," he told her seriously, "I'll be there on every one."

"Do you not think people will get suspicious?"

"It will be fine," he replied, "We'll circulate all of the best hotels in London. No one will find us."

She smiled at his optimism.

"It will keep me going," she murmured, "The thought of you."

"Oh, my darling," he stroked her face, raising her lips to his for a chaste kiss, "You don't know how long the thought of you has sustained me."

"Tell me," she whispered.

"I'm ashamed," he murmured, so softly that she could barely hear him.

"Why?" she asked, surprised.

"I shouldn't have thought of you in the way I did without your permission."

She let out a quiet laugh.

"I don't think that would bother a single man in the world but you, Roland Brett," she explained when he looked at her in confusion, "I love you," she pressed her lips gently against his, "Anyway, it works both ways," she told him a moment later, "I didn't have your permission to imagine making love to you on the desk in your office when everyone else had gone to bed. But I did."

She flushed a little with her confession, but her eyes sparked a little as he met her gaze in surprise.

"You thought about that too?" he asked.

"Of course I did," she murmured, stroking his hand gently over his chest, "I've told you before, Roland, I find you irresistibly attractive. I have done since we met."

"You should have told me," he whispered, brushing his lips gently over her forehead.

"Oh yes," she replied dubiously, "And how do you think that would have gone?"

"We'd have probably made love on my desk," he replied, his lips trailing down over her cheek to reach hers, "And I imagine that would have been very nice," he told her between kisses.

"Mmmm," she agreed, "I think it would have been. But now you have to tell me," she whispered, leaning her lips away from his so that he could not reach them, "What did you think of?"

He looked hesitant for a moment, but he met her eyes and acknowledged that she had been brave enough to say.

"I thought of us in every way imaginable," he murmured, "Melting away into the corner of an empty ward. In that tiny bed I had in my quarters. More than once, in the middle of one of those terrible mess dinners, I imagined having you on one of those perversely expensive table cloths that they brought out for the officers," he was quiet for a second, "Imagined you following me down to the beach and taking my hand. Pulling me back towards the dunes or just lying down there with me in the sand."

"And what would I do then?" she asked in a whisper.

His breath trembled a little as he spoke.

"You would take my clothes off," he told her.

She noticed with pleasure that his eyes widened as her hands reached out for his tie.

"Grace, what are you doing?" he asked her, stopping her hand gently with his.

"Taking your clothes off," she replied.

"But we need to find somewhere else," he reminded her.

"No we don't," she told her, continuing her work, "You just need to be as quiet as you can. What would I do then?" she asked, as she freed him of his tie and jacket and opened the buttons of his shirt, "Whisper it."

"You would kiss me," he told her.

"Like this?"

"Yes."

"Like this?" she trailed her lips down to his chest, revelling in the feeling of his uneven breath under her fingertips.

"Yes, exactly like that."

"Then what?" she pressed him.

"You'd hold me, and then you'd undress," he told her.

"Wouldn't you have done it?" she asked him.

"No," he replied, "I would never have been brave enough."

"Undress me now," she commanded him softly.

He did so, touching the curve of her neck inside her dress as he unfastened the collar. He slipped her out of the garment and she made quick work of his trousers.

"Did you imagine me naked?" she asked him quietly.

"Yes," he told her in a low groan.

"And did I live up to your expectations?" she wanted to know.

"Oh, Grace. You surpassed them in every way. I could never have imagined you."

She kissed his lips swiftly, placing his hands on the fastening of her brassier and encouraged him to click it open.

"Oh, my love," she murmured softly as he caressed her breasts, "What did you imagine then?"

He seemed to colour a little at her words and she leaned forward whispering to him;

"You can't possibly be embarrassed when you're touching me like that."

His hand stilled for a moment.

"You have to remember," he told her, as levelly as she thought he could, "I was terrified of compromising your reputation. I didn't want to… blemish, you in any way."

She simply watched him, her expression completely open, willing him to keep talking.

"You made love to me with your mouth," he told her, "And I made love to you with mine."

She bowed her head for a second, kissing his shoulder.

"You are too good to be real, Roland Brett," she whispered, pushing him onto his back.

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	16. Chapter 16

**I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update, I've been super busy.**

It was her last night. Her trunk was packed, all but for her best evening dress that she had worn on the night of the party and the blouse and skirt she would wear tomorrow when Roland drove her to London. She tried her best to be sociable, though she was tired of most people here. Evelyn seemed to understand and pretended to draw Grace away from Hetty in order to have their own conversation, whereupon she simply handed her a glass of brandy and sat with her in silence. Grace smiled gratefully and took a sip of the brandy. The gentlemen were taking a very long time at their port and cigars this evening, Hetty remarked, and Grace noticed she was quite right. In a way, it was a relief, as it made the window during which she might have to talk to Colonel Purbright considerably shorter, but at the moment she was growing to resent every moment she spent away from Roland.

But when they did arrive, what felt like an eternity later, his eyes met hers as soon as he entered the room. He barely nodded to Hetty as he passed her, making straight for where Grace and Evelyn sat.

"You took your time," Grace murmured quietly, smiling as he sat down on the sofa, close to her.

"I'm sorry," he told her softly, inclining his head gently towards her, murmuring, so no one else could hear, "Meet me."

As if understanding her cue, Evelyn got up and went over to where Alex stood. Grace watched her go, finally turning her head to look at Roland, her lips curling into a smile, her eyes sparkling so brightly that she could almost feel it herself.

"Outside the gazebo," he told her, "For old times sake. I'll tell Hetty now that I'm tired."

"Alright," she replied.

"Go and say goodbye to Evelyn," he told her, "And then leave. I don't think I can wait for you Grace."

She flushed, smiled.

"Alright," she told him again, "Go."

She watched, making her way across the room once he had gone through the door, gently touching Evelyn's arm as she approached.

"I may not have the chance to see you tomorrow," she told her, "I'm going quite early."

"I'll get up and wave you off," Evelyn told her.

"Don't trouble yourself," Grace replied softly, "Catch up on sleep."

A smile spread across Evelyn's face and she giggled.

"What's funny?" Alex enquired.

"Nothing," Grace told him, "Just a silly joke between us."

"It's been good to meet you, Miss Carter," he told her, shaking her hand very courteously.

"Thank you," Grace replied, "I've enjoyed meeting you very much as well."

"And you will come to the wedding," Evelyn told her, kissing her cheek.

"Yes," Alex agreed, "You must. We insist."

Grace smiled.

"If you want me there," she told them.

"Of course we do," Evelyn told her, then, lowering her voice, "Now, unless I'm very much mistaken, you have an appointment to keep."

Grace smiled at her guiltily and Evelyn grinned.

"Go," she told her, "I'll excuse you to Lady Brett."

"Alright," Grace replied, and went.

She could not stop herself smiling, or force herself to slow down as she made her way to the back door of the house. She nearly ran down the dark path towards the gazebo. In the darkness, she could see his outline, and the white of his dress shirt, leaning up against the wall. He smiled, standing up straight as he saw her, meeting her, taking her hand.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Not here?" she teased him, "Not finishing as we started?"

"No," Roland told her, "Because, I promise you, we are no where near finished, Grace."

She smiled, squeezing his hand in reply.

"Where, then?" she asked.

"Not yet, sweetheart," he told her in reply, "All in good time."

"I thought time was what we are short of," she reminded him.

In the darkness she caught a look of sadness on his face and brushed her thumb over the back of his hand, silently apologising. He squeezed her hand gently in reply.

He was leading her around the lake. Everything, the water, the light, the night itself was deep and dark and blue and heavy with love.

"I love you," her voice left her throat, half-choked with emotion, her eyes fixed on the outline of his features.

His face turned towards her, inclining his mouth down towards hers.

"And I love you," he murmured, tugging at her arm a little more, "Come on," he breathed, his lips the merest fraction away from hers, "Not far now."

In the darkness, she could see what looked like a little building. She could see a dim light coming from what seemed to be a window.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"This is the old boathouse," he told her quietly, "Hardly anyone ever comes here now that the boys aren't here for most of the time, but I used to bring them here a lot when they were little and take them out on the lake. I made a few arrangements for us."

As they drew level with the little wooden building, Grace made out a white rose growing up the side of the wall between the panels. Gently, he eased the single door open and held it open for her.

"Oh Roland."

The door open, more gentle light ebbed out, as it had from the window. Candles stood in empty jar on every surface around the room, other little jars holding what smelled like lavender and jasmine. In spite of the building's original purpose, only one boat was in evidence, at the back of the building. Before it stood a freshly made bed with a low wrought iron frame and heaps of sheets.

"I didn't want us to be cold," he explained quietly as he saw her eyes take in the mountain of sheets.

"We won't be," she assured him, "Oh, Roland, did you do all of this yourself?"

"I couldn't very well ask for help," he replied, smiling, "Do you like it?"

"Like it?" she turned to him, "Roland, this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me."

"I'm not sure about that," he replied, smiling slightly, "It wasn't done without a degree of self-interest, after all."

"Alright, then," she cupped his cheeks in her hands, "The greatest thing, the best thing, the most romantic thing. My darling, how can I make this up to you?"

"By being here," he replied gently.

She pressed her lips to his, devouring his mouth hungrily.

"I love you so much," she mouthed against his cheek as they stumbled together towards the bed.

"I know, Grace," he replied, returning her kisses, making her gasp, "I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

Falling onto the bed together, they pushed and pulled at each others clothes, at each others bodies, wanting to feel the caress of skin on skin.

"I can't live without you," he whispered to her, removing her brassiere, caressing her breast, "I need you."

She kissed his face again, embracing him softly, running her hands over his back and cradling his body with her legs.

"It won't be for long," she promised him, "As soon as I'm free, I'm yours."

"As I am yours," he whispered in reply, smoothing his thumb over her cheek, "Free or otherwise."

Her head fell back as he buried his face in her collarbone.

"My darling," he whispered, easing her to lie down, "My sweetheart, my angel."

He feathered kisses down her body, nuzzling her ribcage and her hipbone.

"Oh god…-yes!" the words babbled out of her mouth as he kissed her intimately, "Yes-…. Oh!"

With a cry, she arched off the bed, canting her hips upwards against his mouth.

"Now," she told him, between pants of breath, "With me, now, Roland, while I'm still like this."

He seemed to understand perfectly and acquiesced to her demand, slipping inside her, rocking them both to another climax, cradling her in his arms as they capitulated explosively together, kissing her forehead and her eyes as they recovered.

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	17. Chapter 17

Her case was attached to the back of the car. The engine sputtered into life in the early morning fog in front of the house. Grace waved to Maisy, who had risen early to see that she had everything she needed, turning to face the front as Roland turned the corner at the end of the drive and the house disappeared from view behind the wall.

They were quiet for long moment. Her eyes lingered on his gloved hand on the steering wheel. She was glad for the juttering motion of the motor, hoping it might disguise the fact that she could feel herself trembling.

It seemed that the pain of this second parting was too much to put into words; even though they knew this time that it was not permanent, it seemed to ache all the more for its familiarity.

"You know they'll probably find it strange that you insisted on driving me," she told him quietly, hearing the strain in her own voice.

"I know," he did not take his eyes off the road. The same pain seemed to be there in the words he spoke, clumsily hidden, "I don't care."

She felt a muscle tightening in her jaw. They drove on in a hollow silence for long long moments, how long exactly, she did not know. She could not focus on the countryside as it passed, at the moment it all looked the same to her. The morning fog was hardly lifting, if anything, she thought, it was thickening.

"It isn't for very long," she told him at last, told herself more than anything, "It will be over before we know it."

"No it won't," he replied curtly.

She saw his hand shake on the steering wheel, and he bowed his head momentarily to regain his composure.

"Grace," his eyes fixed back on the road but his voice audibly trembled, "Every moment without you feels like a lifetime. Every moment that I'm not touching you feels like a moment wasted."

"Roland-…" she barely pushed the sob out of her voice.

"This week has been the happiest of my life, Grace," he told her, "And I can't quite bring myself to believe that it's over."

"You said yourself," she told him quietly, "It is nowhere near over. We are only beginning," she gazed at him steadily, willing him to share the conviction that he himself had imparted in her, "We have to be," she added softly, "This week is the happiest I've ever been too. We can't be over."

"We're not," he murmured firmly, "We're not."

Gently, she slipped her hand to cover his on the steering wheel.

"Darling," she murmured softly, "Pull over the car and touch me."

He turned in complete shock to look at her. In fact, she was surprised that he did not swerve the car off the road.

"We have the time," she told him, answering the questions that he was silently asking her, "We have time for this. Pull the hood up and we'll get in the back. There; over there beneath that tree."

She was not quite sure what had overcome her, only that her determination for his touch was so great that she apparently had the answer to everything all of a sudden. He stopped the car. She scrambled into the back seat as he alighted to draw the hood over. Securing it, he stepped up through the door and into the back of the car with her, into her arms, which were reaching for him.

He sank down over her in the darkness created by the raised roof, pressing her back into the cool leather of the seat. She sighed with longing as his lips caressed hers. His hands caressed her sides and she wriggled beneath him, arching against him, pulling him closer to her. Her breasts pressed against his chest through the layers of fabric that clothed them, and she felt both of them ache with longing and desire. His eyes were dark as he raised his head to look at her.

"Grace," he murmured hoarsely, warning her, "If you keep doing that I'm going to want to do more than touch you."

"Good," she whispered in his ear, "I want you to do more than touch me."

He let out a poorly suppressed groan and she stretched up again to capture his lips.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, "Here?"

"Yes," she told him, "Here. Now."

"Grace," he murmured softly, cupping her cheek in his palm. She turned her head into his skin, kissing his hand softly, and a moment later keening into it as its partner raised her skirt and touched her intimately through her underwear.

"Oh, darling. Darling-…" she canted her hips upwards in reaction to his touch, more than ready for him, and a moment later was fumbling her hands between their bodies, urging him to unfasten his trousers.

She could not believe they were doing this, making love in the back of a motorcar on a deserted road. The normal code of behaviour seemed not to apply to her time with Roland. He was pushing her beyond it. She cared nothing for any sort of propriety in these moments. Morals became subordinate to need. He was still caressing her face as she gasped as he pushed inside her. Her hands could not even reach the skin of his chest, floundering over the fabric of his shirt under his jacket as he rocked into her and she began to pant in an attempt to control the feelings it gave her. She wanted to make this last. Her hands clung to him and wrapped her legs around his waist. She could barely begin to imagine anything more intimate.

"Sweetheart," he gasped, her name shuddering from his lips as he came, "Grace."

Watching his abandonment, she allowed herself to surrender too, burying her face against his neck, muffling her cry against his skin.

They were quiet for long moment afterwards, trying to recover, letting their breathing return to normal.

"I can't believe we did that," she said shakily.

They were still intimately joined.

He let out a low laugh.

"Nor can I," he replied.

Their foreheads rested together. He tilted his head a fraction, caressing her lips sensuously with his own.

"I love you so much," he murmured against her mouth, "I will never forget this."

"Nor will I," she replied, smiling at him, "I love you too."

Gradually, they realised that they would have to make a move again if they were to reach London on time and they began to right themselves, straightening their clothes. Roland helped her to make sure her hair was still in place. They kept the hood of the car down, though. He cited protection from the unclean London air as his reason, but they both knew it was to extend the feeling of being cocooned together away from the world for as long as possible.

The silence they drove on in was one of the most deeply sad, but strangely contented silences she had ever known. Somehow it conveyed the sadness of parting with the implicit promise that there would be more. That was all she wanted to think about. There would be more, there would be more. They may part now, he might hand her her suitcase and drive away, but there would be, beyond a doubt, more.

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	18. Chapter 18

She carried her suitcase up the front steps without difficulty. He had left her in the next street. In London, of all places, they knew there was a need to be discreet, particularly close to where she would be working. She tried not to think about him, but the thought of him, pushed from her immediate thoughts, surrounded her like a thick, heavy, heavy blanket as she ascended the steps. As he had covered her with his body only an hour ago, his memory covered her thoughts now and she blinked heavily. She forced herself to expel a long, level breath and continue upwards. She tried not to allow herself to articulate his name in her mind. It echoed there of his own accord. She was going to have to get used to living without him, at least for this little while. She could not. She could not, and nor did she really want to.

Desperate for a distraction, she took the letter bearing her instructions out of the pocket of her coat and glanced over it again, though she could remember what it said. She was to report to Dr. Marchant on Ward 7 as soon as she arrived. Making her way through the front doors, she asked at the desk for the direction and began along the corridor towards the stairs.

Being in a hospital once again made for a sharp contrast with the pastoral grandeur of Roland's house. She realised why it was easy for him to escape his domestic troubles in the medical world. The deliberately clinical must be a welcome relief from the unnatural emotional stagnation that he seemed to associate with that house. Until now, she hoped. She hoped she had given him some better memories of the place. That was the least she could have done for him. Stop thinking about Roland, she told herself, momentarily forgetting her self-imposed embargo on articulating his name to herself. Thinking of his name, she could only remember how she had whispered it, moaned it. An image flashed behind her eyes of them moving together, coming together. She forced herself to stair at the frigid blank walls of the staircase. The exertion of the climb was not helping the flush in her cheeks to abate.

She closed her eyes again as she reached the first floor, her hand lingering on the bannister for a second, for support. Oh, how I love you, she thought, before moving along down the corridor in search of the right ward.

"Dr. Marchant?" she addressed the man, dressed in a white doctor's coat, standing outside the ward, handing a chart to a staff nurse. He was getting on in years and the nagging worry, which she had suspected Roland was harbouring, that she would find her new superior attractive was even more unfounded than she had previously supposed.

"Ah," he looked at her over circular spectacles, offering her his hand to shake, "You must be Sister Carter?"

"Yes, Sir," she replied.

"Well, you're very welcome," he told her, "We're jolly glad to have you, even if you're not here to stay. Plenty of work around here. Will you come through into the office a moment and I'll tell you everything you need to know?"

She followed him onto the ward and through into the office at the side.

"I should make it clear to you from the start, Sister Carter," he told her, as soon as he closed the doors behind her, indicating that she should take a seat, "It will only ever be Sister, at least here. I saw on your record that you served as a Matron during the war, and with excellent references from your CO I might add, but I couldn't possibly justify giving you the post when you're only here for a short while. It would be dishonest of me not to tell you now. Do you understand?"

"Yes, of course," Grace replied. It made her smile now to think of Roland writing references for her. In the light of the fact that he'd confessed he'd loved her then too, it was no wonder she had a decent reference to show for her service. She pushed the thought from her head before it could make her break out in a manic grin.

Dr. Marchant smiled at her.

"Jolly good," he told her, "I'm glad we've got that cleared up. That was my only real concern, really. You obviously know what you're doing."

Grace nodded her head, saying nothing.

"You'll have your own quarters, of course, as a Sister," he told her, "Matron will show you them when she comes back to the ward. She's just checking on the linen supplies at the moment, I think. And every-….. Saturday, yes, Saturday, that's right," he checked the information on the chart on his desk, "You'll have leave."

Her eyes widened.

"Really, Sir?" she asked.

"Yes, really," he replied, "Truth be told, Sister Carter, I think the hospital director is rather keen on hanging on to the likes of you, and as we couldn't offer you the position of matron we had to offer you some enticement."

She smiled gratefully.

"Would it be churlish of me to accept his kind offer even if I know I can't serve for longer than these months?" she asked him.

"Perhaps," he replied, "But I won't say anything."

Nevertheless, his tone was inquisitive, and she felt the need to explain, "I have commitments to fulfil."

He nodded brusquely.

"I won't pry," he told her, "You must do what you have to."

She nodded.

"Thank you, Sir," she replied.

"Not at all," he told her, standing and shaking her hand again, "Well, that's it. There's very little more for me to say, I only need to wait for Matron to show you-… Ah, splendid," he said as there was a knock on the door, "This must be her now. Come in."

The door opened, and when it did, Grace could have sworn her heart stopped. She couldn't believe her eyes.

"Matron Quayle," Dr. Marchant addressed the more than familiar woman standing in the doorway, just as surprised as Grace, "Meet Sister Carter. Sister Carter, Matron Quayle."

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	19. Chapter 19

**I'm so sorry for the delay, it's been quite a stressful week. **

In silence, Grace followed Margaret out of the doctor's office. She was determined to make Margaret speak first, so that she knew that she would not cause unnecessary offence by starting with the wrong tone. Margaret too was silent as they made their way down the corridor, but once they were in the quiet of the stairwell, she spoke.

"Well, I must say, this is a surprise," she remarked, "Of all of the nurses I expected to have under my command, I never thought it would be you, Grace."

The reminder of who was in charge now did not escape her.

"Does Dr. Marchant not tell you the names of your new staff members?" Grace enquired, a little surprised.

"Transparently not," Margaret replied, "I'm sure you had your own practices when you were matron, but Dr. Marchant and I rarely have time to exchange non-essential information."

Margaret's tone was brusque, and her lack of friendliness for a moment made Grace feel a good deal more relaxed. When Margaret had someone in her sights, for better or for worse, she was unfailingly as sweet as sugar towards them. But then, a moment later, she turned to her and looked at her more fully than she had since she had first seen her in the office.

"It's good to see you again, Grace," she told her, in such a voice that Grace almost found sincere, "I'm sorry we didn't keep in better touch after the war. Did you stay in contact with anyone from 25A?"

She knows! Grace thought for an irrational moment, insanely wondering if she could somehow smell the remains of her illicit encounter in the back of the car on her. She willed herself not to flush and not to think any more of the back of the car.

"I've kept in contact with Mr and Mrs Gillan," she replied, "And Colonel Brett."

"Ah yes," Margaret replied, "I remember you always got on very well. Very well," she repeated quietly, a small smile forming on her lips.

Falling into her old shoes for a moment, Grace had to fight hard to bite back a reprimand for that forward remark. To have said anything would have looked highly suspicious and it was no longer her place to be able to reprimand anyone. She remained silent.

"I hear his son had recently become engaged," Margaret remarked.

"Yes," Grace replied, and then, "I was invited to the celebration. His wife invited me."

"That was kind of her, I'm sure," Margaret looked straight ahead, climbing the stairs, but Grace could tell by the sight of the side of her face that she wore a smug smile.

She could not bear it any more. To be made to think of Roland in such a restricted way by this woman.

"What have you been doing since the war?" she asked her, though at the moment she did not much care.

"Nursing," Margaret replied, "What else? Unlike most, I am not blessed with any other activities that could possibly distract me from my job."

Grace felt herself flush a little in anger at the implication that she had shirked away from her vocation in favour of hedonism. But hadn't she? Hadn't her time with Roland been the most blissful lapse away from the real world of pain and the need to care? But it had been caring, deeply caring, being with Roland, and it had also been painful too, the longing and ultimately the parting. She knew Margaret was wrong, and narrow minded in what she said but again had to fight the urge to correct her.

Margaret let out a heavy sigh.

"As long as you feel able," she told her, "I'd like you to start your duties as soon as possible."

Grace nodded.

"Of course."

"Obviously, it would be a waste of time for me to check that you are proficient," Margaret continued, "I should hope that you are given that I trained you in the first place."

Grace said nothing. The reminder of her status as Margaret's "protegee" was one that she rather resented.

They had reached the attic bedrooms at the top of the stairs which obviously served as the nurses' quarters.

"Half an hour should be long enough for you to unpack and change," Margaret told her, "Your uniform is hanging in your wardrobe. This is your room," she indicated towards the correct door, "I will see you back downstairs."

Grace watched her go, under the pretence of struggling a little with her suitcase, before she opened the door and entered the room.

Her quarters were very simply, even sparsely, furnished, but at least private and clean, and definitely not consisting of canvas walls, as they sometimes had done in the past. She gave a small rueful smile. 25A had had its perks. _Try not to think of Roland_. She snorted a little at the thought she had had of privacy. Privacy took on a rather different meaning whenever Margaret Quayle was about. Though she had only very daringly considered it beforehand, there would be absolutely no smuggling Roland into these particular quarters when he came up to London to see her. More was the pity.

She set her suitcase down at the foot of the bed and clicked the catch open. She had half an hour, she needn't unpack just yet, even if she did regret tonight when she came back here tired. She stroked the fingers over the silk of her evening gown, letting her hand linger on the beads, the gown she had worn the first time they had made love, the gown he had undressed her from. Her head fell back a little as her eye welled with tears.

"Roland," she whispered, "Sweetheart. I love you."

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	20. Chapter 20

As soon as she was able to retire to her room that evening, she tore a page out of her commonplace book and pulled the fountain pen out of the pocket of her coat.

_Meet me at the bandstand in Hyde Park_, she wrote, _9:00,_ _Saturday_._ We must be as careful as we can._

She had a few envelopes stashed away in the back of her book and she slipped the note in and sent it. She addressed the envelope to Dr. R.F.B., hoping against hope that Margaret, should the envelope fall into her sight, would not know the Bretts' address. She did not sign it, remembering her duty of reading the nurses' post before it left 25A. Though she knew nothing of the sort should happen now, she simply did not trust Margaret an inch.

And she was there, as she had promised she would be, at the bandstand at a quarter to nine on Saturday morning, it the dispersing mist of the park and the brightening light. And so was Evelyn.

"What are you doing here?" Grace asked her incredulously, as Evelyn embraced her tightly, "I mean I'm glad to see you, but the message wasn't exactly aimed at you."

"We're being careful," Evelyn replied, "How do you think it would look if Colonel Brett bolted off to London on your first day of leave. He's here on the pretence of driving me here, and," her eyes glinted with delight, "Teaching me to drive! I just had a lesson on the way here. I'm driving back myself," she told her proudly, "Don't worry, Alex is going to be there in case I need help."

"Where are they?" Grace asked; she had been wondering for some time now.

"They're finding a place to leave the car, they shouldn't be long. Alex and I will go straight away," she added with a smile, "There are some things I want to pick up at Harrods, and we don't want to get in your way."

Grace gave her a little smile.

"What would your parents say," she asked her, "If they knew that you were helping me and Roland, like this?"

"I don't think you get the chance to say much when you're having a heart attack," she replied.

Grace gave a little snort.

"Hello, Grace."

They both turned, they had been standing looking out over the park waiting for their approach, but they had been looking the wrong way. Roland and Alexander were both there. Evelyn kissed Grace on the cheek before taking Alex's arm and allowing him to lead her back towards the path. Grace exchanged a nod with him before he turned away to look where he was going and her eyes settled on his father.

"Hello," she replied to him.

They were standing apart, not daring to touch, they were being careful. This was London, not Oxford at the height of the Long Vac, anyone could be there, anyone could see them. There was a kind of electricity between them. It was difficult to resist.

She drew a little closer to him.

"When I said we needed to be careful, I meant more at this end," she told him, "Though I did appreciate seeing them," she nodded in the direction in which Evelyn and Alex had departed, giving him a wry smile, "Our cover."

He smiled too.

"They are very sweet," he agreed, "I don't mind admitting that I completely underestimated her. So," he asked her, his eyes returning to her face, they were still not touching, how were they still not touching?, "Why specifically do we have to be careful, then?"

"You'll never guess who my matron is," she told him.

"You mean they haven't made you matron?" he asked her.

She shook her head.

"They're mad," he muttered, and she smiled appreciatively.

'Go on then," she prompted him, "Guess."

"Who?" he asked.

She gave him a flatly unimpressed look.

"No," he murmured, "She can't be."

"She is," Grace confirmed.

"How did she-…"

"I don't know," she replied, "But she is."

There was a moment's silence.

"She could make things difficult for us," she told him.

"I won't let her," he replied swiftly, "You and I have coped with Margaret Quayle before and we'll damn well do it again."

She smiled sincerely at his optimism, it gave her heart. She almost reached forward to grasp his hand and only just stopped herself, remembering that they were in public. But he saw, and he met her eyes again, smiling at her.

"I've got us a hotel room," he told her, "Shall we go?"

"This early?" she asked him in surprise, "Will they allow us in?"

"They should, it's Claridges," he replied.

She smiled.

"Let's go."

He offered her his arm and she took it willingly.

"It's not far," he told her quietly, "We can take a taxi."

Her heart was racing along with their hurried footsteps as they made their way towards the west side of the park.

"Oh darling," she whispered, too quietly for anyone they were passing to hear her, "I've missed you. I've wanted you."

He turned his head back in towards her. His lips were so close to hers.

"I want you now," he told her, "But we're in the middle of Hyde Park."

She gave a soft laugh, and so did he.

"Come on," he told her, tugging her along, "Let's go."

She didn't want to count the hours she'd spent over the last week lying alone in her bed, wondering how she'd ever done this before. Not tonight.

He barely got her over the threshold of the room before they were in each other's arms. If she had been asked, she couldn't have said what colour the walls of the room were, she only had eyes for him. He was stroking her facing, running his fingers through her short hair, touching every inch of her that he could.

"Grace, my Grace."

Their lips pressed hotly against one another as they fumbled with one another's clothes in their impatience.

"I love this," he murmured, divesting her of the thick grey cardigan she had put on to ward off the morning cold, "You're so-…," his hands met with the skin exposed by its removal, "Soft."

"I love you," she latched her lips hungrily back on to his, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, my darling," he whispered.

She gasped when he pushed her skirt down and cupped her through her underwear. Wrapping her arms around his neck she allowed herself to tumble backwards onto the bed, pulling him with her. He laughed in surprise, resuming the pressure of his mouth on hers as he pinned her to the bed and she pined for him to touch her where she wanted him.

She canted her hips upwards, against his excitement, silently asking him to take her.

His hand stilled on her face, drawing the line of her cheek with his thumb.

"I love you," he whispered.

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	21. Chapter 21

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She began to live for Saturdays. Perhaps her colleagues noticed that her mood seemed to improve ever so slightly, to a pitch of almost feverish excitement on a Friday, but they seemed to dismiss it as an unusual fondness for days of leisurely roaming around London.

She did not roam around London, not at all. At the height of the summer months anyone could be in town, and anyone could chance to see them, they barely dared to walk down the street side by side. They refused to give Margaret, or indeed Hetty, ammunition that they could afford to withhold.

So, by process of elimination and irrepressible mutual desire, they spent their Saturdays behind the tightly locked doors of various hotels, always naked, always between the soft sheets of the bed and close to one another, sometimes holding each other, more often making love.

She developed a liking for rooms that looked over the park. They would close the first thin white drape over the window, hiding themselves from the prying range of any high-wandering eye outside but still allowing them to see the view outside of the mass of green, the trees and the paths, down towards the Serpentine, reflecting the sky. She smiled at herself as the thought ran through her mind, one Saturday afternoon, resting on Roland's chest, that she should have developed such a taste. And with all of the other things they had to think about. Two months ago it would have seemed absurd, before then she had barely even set foot in an expensive London hotel. So much had changed, she had done so much that would have been almost unimaginable to her two months ago.

She felt Roland's thumb stroking over her hair. The sheets were very soft and warm, and so was his body, still languid and sated from their lovemaking.

She had learned what it was to love someone absolutely, to yearn for them absolutely, to crave their presence with an almost physical urgency.

"Sweetheart, what are you thinking of?" he asked her quietly.

She let out a quiet sigh.

"You," she replied gently, turning onto her side a little so that she could look at him, "I'm always thinking about you."

He smiled at her.

"You poor child," he murmured.

She grinned, leaning up on her elbows, looking at his face. But he was not grinning back at her, as she had expected him to. In fact, his face looked rather sad.

"What is it?" she asked him softly.

"What are you doing, spending your life with me, Grace?" he asked her

"What?" she asked him, barely believing what she had just heard.

"You're so beautiful," he told her sadly, cupping her cheek with his hand, "You could have anyone you wanted. Why are you wasting your life on me?"

She was quiet for a second. Then, a moment later, she sprang into action.

"Now, see here," she told him, prodding him in the chest a little, throwing one of her thighs over him so that she straddled his middle, sitting astride him, bearing down on him, giving the impression, for half a second, of being threatening, "I am not wasting my life on you. You know me too well to think I would invest my life in anything I considered to be a waste. And if you're a waste, Roland Brett, it's my absolute privilege to waste away with you. Do you understand?"

Mutely, he nodded.

"Good," she told him sternly, reaching forwards and cupping his face in both her hands, resting so that her forearms leant against his chest, "You've seen the things I've seen," she whispered to him, as softly as she could, brushing his skin with her thumbs, "And you've brought me through them. I don't want anyone else. We belong together."

When his voice came forth, it was strangled with emotion.

"I love you, Grace," he told her quietly.

She pressed his lips to his, rocking her body forwards, closer to his.

"I love you too, my darling," she told him, her eyes falling shut, trying to control the feeling welling up inside her.

She felt his hands covering hers, holding on to her.

"Grace, are you alright?" he asked her gently.

"Yes," she murmured, her breath leaving her in a long ragged motion. She was almost dizzy. And now nauseous. Again nauseous. Oh god, "I just need a minute."

"Grace, here," his arms took hold of her, firmly but still as gently as he could manage to be and still move her, "Let me help you."

Tenderly he rolled her onto her back, lifting the blanket to cover her up so she did not get cold. He put his hand to her forehead, checking to see if she had a fever.

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Felt a bit sick," she told him, opening her eyes, sitting up a little, "It's alright, it's passing now."

"I'll get you a glass of water," he told her, clambering quickly out of bed and swiftly taking a glass from the side table and filling it with water from the pitcher that stood by it, "Here," he passed it to her, "Here, sweetheart," he helped her to pul the blankets up further so that they did not fall down and leave her cold, "Keep warm. You should have said you weren't feeling well."

Yes, Grace thought, she should have said. Somehow, she would still have to say. She would have to find a way to tell him.

"Thank you, darling," she told him softly, putting the glass back down on the table at her side of the bed, "I feel much better now."

"Good," he replied, kissing her forehead, smoothing her hair and resting with his arms around her.

They were quiet for a moment.

"I'm sorry I upset you," he whispered at last.

"Don't be sorry," she told him, "You didn't say it to upset me. I'm sorry I pounced on you."

"Don't be," he replied with a quiet grin, "I enjoyed it quite a lot actually."

She smiled a little too.

"Darling, what is it?" he asked, "If the sickness has passed. You still look-…"

Her eyes had fallen closed again.

"Roland, there's something I'd better tell you."

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	22. Chapter 22

He held her, his arms around her, his hands smoothing over her back, his thumb over the blade of her shoulder as she told him.

"I think I might be pregnant."

His eyes fluttered shut for the briefest of moments, and she knew he'd been expecting it, he didn't really have to hear it. Still, though, from that she couldn't quite gage his reaction.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly.

"I wasn't sure," she replied, "I'm still not sure. I didn't want to worry you."

"Oh, Grace," he murmured, "Sweetheart. In future, assume that if you're worried, I want to be worried too, alright?"

She nodded haltingly.

"You can't be that far gone," he remarked, then a thought suddenly striking, highlighting an assumption he had made, "Unless-…"

"The child is yours, Roland," she told him firmly, "No one else."

His fingers brushed her face.

"I'm sorry, my love," he told her, muttering a little in explanation, "The doctor in me-… pedantic."

She smiled softly, leaning forwards, kissing his forehead.

"When was your last cycle?" he asked her, tenderly but not without a business-like edge to his voice.

"I haven't had one since we first made love," she told him.

"That long?" he asked her.

"It hasn't been _that _long," she reminded him, "Not at all."

It was easy to forget that this new, secret world that had opened up before them, that they had made for themselves, was still comparatively young, and fragile.

"No," he agreed, "I suppose not."

There was a moment's silence.

"I'm so sorry, Grace," he told her quietly.

"Don't be sorry," she told him, silently pleading with him, "It's not your fault. Well, it's as much mine as it is yours. I knew I'd fallen pregnant before, I knew it could happen again. I should have stopped to think for a second."

She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath.

"I suppose you'll need me to go. To keep my distance."

"What?" he asked her, "What are you talking about?"

"Alexander's wedding," she told him, "Once it's known that I'm pregnant, and it will be known before he and Evelyn get married, it won't take long for people to work out who the father is. I don't want to ruin Alex's future because of our mistake. It wouldn't be right."

"And you think it would be right for me to abandon you when I know you're carrying my child?" he asked her.

She was quiet.

"Grace," he murmured softly, "No, I don't want you to keep your distance. Anything but. We may need to rethink our plans a little, but I," he wrapped his arms back around her, "Am not letting you go," she heard him give a heavy sigh. Their faces were pressed together and she could not see his expression, but she dared to hope that she heard a strain of contentedness in his voice, "You're a part of me."

She could not ask him if he was happy, it would be too absurd, too many things had changed for him to be wholly happy. But a moment later he leant back, looked her in the face.

"You cannot imagine what it makes me feel to know that you're going to have my child," he told her softly, his voice filled with something closely akin to awe, "Grace-… I love you so much."

And his eyes were swimming with tears- his feelings overcame him.

"Darling," she murmured, pulling him towards her, allowing him to bury his face in her shoulder, "Oh, my love," she now stroked his back tenderly, "We need to wait a little while," she reminded him, "Just to be sure. Before we do anything."

"I know," he told her, "I know."

"To think I worried that you'd be disappointed," she told him with a softly smile, "Now I worry that you'll be upset if it turns out that I'm mistaken."

"Only a little," he promised her, "Because I would still have you. Oh, but Grace," he murmured again, "To have a family with you."

She met his eyes, smiling.

"I know," she replied, "There is nothing that would make me happier."

"Nothing," he agreed, "And I would give anything to make it happen."

"Sweetheart," she murmured softly, "Please, let's not decide anything too hastily."

He looked at her in a little confusion.

"I've already given you the news of the loss of one of your sons," she explained quietly, "I'm loathe to be the reason that you lose another."

"I understand that," he told her, "But at the end of the day, above all else, I choose you. I've loved you for so long," he murmured to her gently, "I simply cannot stop."

She groaned a little as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

"Oh, darling," she whispered, "Please don't stop."

"I won't leave you, Grace," he murmured, kissing a trail down over her collarbone, his hand cupping her breast.

Her arms draped around his shoulders as his mouth moved down to her stomach.

"Don't leave me," she moaned.

His lips were at her hip.

"I won't. I've got you."

She threw her head back and keened.

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	23. Chapter 23

But she was not mistaken. She most emphatically was not mistaken, she affirmed to herself grimly, feeling the hard grind of the floor on her knees as she knelt before the toilet bowl in the bathroom at the end of all of the nurses' rooms. Good god, it was difficult to vomit quietly, but she had to try. The last thing she wanted was Margaret turning up now, she didn't think she could cope with the sight of her.

Oh Christ, she thought as she wretched again, she wished Roland was here now. Well, not exactly, she wasn't sure how she felt about him seeing her in such a dishevelled state, but she dearly wished at this moment that she was not alone, that she had someone here; Evelyn or even Tom. Just someone, a kind face. At the same time, she knew it would be totally unreasonable to wake one of the other nurses and ask for help, it wasn't five in the morning yet, and they would have to rise early. She didn't even think she could make it out of this godforsaken bathroom without falling down, without wanting to-….

She wretched again. Her eyes watered with the exertion of it. She hated this. She hated this more than she could say.

"Grace Carter, open this door."

If it was possible for her stomach to sink any further, she thought it might just have done so. She knew that voice.

As quickly as she could manage, she stood up. Her hands were trembling, but she tidied herself up as best she could before moving to the door and unfastening the latch.

Over the years, she had seen Margaret Quayle lingering at night and trying to hear something to her advantage, clad in her nightclothes and holding a lantern, many times. Never had the sight been more unwelcome than it was not.

Without speaking, Margaret slipped inside the bathroom, locking the door behind herself again, placing the lantern she was carrying beside the one that Grace had brought with her. There was no need to turn on the main light.

"You left your door open," Margaret told her, "That's how I knew it was you."

There was a silence.

"Do you want to tell me why you're in here in the early hours, being sick?"

Silence.

"Am I to take it there's be an extremely localised outbreak of food poisoning?" she asked, her eyebrows raised coldly, almost murderous in this light, "Or a particularly violent allergic reaction?"

She would not say it. She would not own up to it. She would not give Margaret the satisfaction. Thankfully, the physical nausea seemed to have abated, but only to replaced by the most heavy mental weariness she could imagine.

"Or am I to take it that you've landed yourself in that peculiarly particular kind of trouble you manage to attract?" she asked, "Again?"

Grace said nothing.

"Who was it this time?" Margaret wondered, "Do I even need to ask? You'd just come from the Bretts' house. I was wrong about your tastes, they are becoming more conservative."

Grace could feel tears welling in her eyes. She would not cry, she refused to.

"Do I need to tell you that I'm extremely disappointed in you?" Margaret went on, "As I'm sure you would have been if any nurse under your care had emerged in similar circumstances. Do you expect me to be able to save you every time, Grace?" she asked, "Answer me, do you?" her face had changed from disdain to incredulity, almost now to pity, "Because, I'm afraid my dear, that you have gone beyond my help this time."

"No, I don't expect you to save me," Grace replied quietly, "I don't believe I need saving."

"You see that's where I think you're wrong, my dear," Margaret told her, "It was all very well, last time. It was you who wanted to throw everything away for love. You never stood to lose that much at all. Now you're asking a man to do the same for you, who stands to lose a great deal."

Grace was quiet. She would not have been, but for the fact that Margaret was giving voice to almost exactly the fears that she herself harboured still, in spite of Roland's attempts to reassure her. He could promise her all he liked that he would never look at Hetty next to her, but he stood to lose his son as well. A child for a child was a much more difficult exchange to measure up.

Margaret was watching her face closely.

"And I think you know what I'm saying is true," she continued carefully, "Take it from me, as one he passed over many years before he did the same to you, Roland Brett is not a man to set store in."

"Margaret we're not talking about who to promote as matron!" she snapped, "I'm carrying his child!"

Margaret's silent pleasure at her eventual confession was not lost on her, and she felt herself shudder a little.

Margaret simply shrugged her shoulders a little, and said; "All the more reason that he should seek to protect himself this time."

"He loves me!" Grace managed to choke out, her eyes, her throat strangled by tears, she was clinging on to the sink for support.

"Yes, he loves you enough to have put you in this impossible position, one that could ruin you completely ruin you," Margaret looked at her cynically, and then, more disconcertingly still, sympathetically, "Oh Grace," she murmured, almost gently, "You really do walk into this trap, don't you? I'm beginning to think men see you coming. You're so full of sympathy, of kindness, and such a pretty girl too. Through no fault of your own, you always give them too much, without a thought for yourself."

Oh God's, what Margaret was saying was so close to being true, she could hardly help but believe it. Her eyes burned again. She wanted Roland, she wanted him to tell her that what Margaret said was lies, all lies! She wanted him to hold her, to tell her that everything was going to be alright. She remembered him holding her, pressing her body to him, whispering "I won't leave you."

She summoned her courage.

"He won't leave me," she told Margaret simply, "I believe that we will be good to his word."

"And do you think he will be so quick to come to your aid when you're known as a fallen woman, dismissed from her post?" Margaret asked.

Grace swallowed hard. She wanted to whisper something in horror, but in truth she was not actually that horrified.

"After all," she continued, "You cannot expect me to keep you here given what I now know about your position. I have my own reputation as a matron to protect, after all, having striven so long to obtain the post."

She felt sick again but it was not because of her pregnancy. She was by no means given to violence, but she thought that now, given the chance, she'd run Margaret through with a knife.

There was a moment's silence.

"I will write you good references," Margaret told her after a moment, "I will make no mention of the reason for your dismissal. I will say you fell ill and were unable to complete your posting. It's not so far from the truth, this does seem to be something of a sickness with you, Grace. And if you take my advice, you'll go away for a while. Maybe even until your child is born. I believe the Gillans are living in Scotland, that should be sufficiently far enough."

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	24. Chapter 24

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She went to the Post Office and sent a telegram to Tom and Kitty asking if now would be an acceptable time to take up the invitation they had offered her. And then, with an uncharacteristic social boldness, she did not wait for the reply before she packed her suitcase and made her way to King's Cross.

She had to get away from here. From Margaret and her barely disguised threats, though, with her more than satisfactory references written and tucked away at the bottom of Grace's suitcase, there was very little she could do now. She did even want to be near her. But more than that, she did not want to be in the city that had cradled her and Roland as they held each other through blissful Saturdays of making love in secret. She wanted to be far away from that place. To be made to remember was too painful. Margaret was right. To ask him to give up his child for her was too much. Not his wife, his house, his place in society; none of that mattered, he had said so, but his son-…Not again. She couldn't.

The train took all day. It was beginning to get darker sooner, it was well into September, and it gave the appearance of night when she arrived.

And Tom was standing on the platform.

They did not say anything. He simply smiled, and took her case from her. She relinquished it gratefully. He offered her his arm, and led her out of the station.

"We don't live far," he told her quietly, "Just in the village. We haven't managed to get the money together for a car yet, after buying the house."

She nodded.

"It's alright," she murmured softly, "Thank you."

"What for" he asked quietly.

"For being here," she replied, "For having me."

She felt his arm clench a little, squeezing her hand softly.

"You must be worn out," he remarked quietly to her.

"Yes," she replied, "I am."

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"No," she told him, "Not really."

"Well, you should eat regardless," he reminded her, "We saved you some supper, but Kitty will understand if you want to eat it in your room and then just sleep."

"How is Kitty?" she asked him, realising she did not know.

"She had the baby," he told her smiling.

"Oh," she was truly taken by surprise- had it been that long?

"A little early," he replied in response to her surprise, "But a good weight. A little boy. John Miles. We call him Jack."

Everything about Tom when he talked about his son suggested a quiet pride. It was almost too much for her.

"I'm sorry, Tom," she told him quietly, "I should have thought before I came racing up here."

"Don't be sorry," he told her, "I'm glad you're here."

There was a moment's pause.

"I gathered," he said carefully, a moment later, "That everything is a bit of a mess."

"Yes, it is, really," she replied, "A lot of a mess."

He smiled sadly.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he told her gently.

She nodded silently. She knew that at one point, one point quite soon, probably, she would have to explain herself to Tom and Kitty, but she was glad that that moment was not now.

They reached the house soon enough. The light had been left on in the passage, and Tom led her up the stairs. She assumed that the baby was asleep, so kept as quiet as she could. Setting her suitcase down at the foot of her bed, Tom murmured to her, "I'll bring you some food," and was gone.

By now she was so tired that she ate in a haze and could hardly even remembered what it was, only that it was warm, and soft and soothing. She fell asleep not long after.

When she woke, there was light streaming in from the tall windows at the other side of the room. It was by all appearances a cold and bright autumnal morning. But she barely noticed the pleasant rural weather, because Kitty Gillan was perched on the edge of her bed, watching her stir with a steaming blue cup and saucer in her hands.

"Here," she told her, as Grace sat up, holding out the tea for her.

"Thank you," Grace replied quietly, taking it from her.

"I'm sorry I didn't stay up to welcome you," Kitty told her, "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," Grace replied, "I was worn out."

"Yes, Tom said you were," Kitty told her.

"Congratulations," Grace said after a moment and a sip of her tea, "You must be very happy."

Kitty smiled widely.

"I am," she replied sincerely, "I'll bring him in soon, so you can meet him, if you'd like."

"That would be lovely," Grace replied, meaning it, but not quite managing to make that clear in her voice.

Kitty, though, did not seem displeased by this reaction, moreover, she looked as if she found it quite natural.

There was a moment's silence.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Kitty asked.

Grace paused for a second. Briefly, she found it almost surreal. It was surreal; here she was, confessing to Kitty Trevelyan, the volunteer she had tried to send back to England for impertinence, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. But then, perhaps it was. She had tried to help Kitty, in as much as her meagre power could, with her child. And now Kitty was helping her with hers.

She looked down at the blankets for a moment.

"You know I was at the Bretts' house for their son's party?" Grace asked, "And a little while after?"

"Yes, of course I do, Tom said."

Grace took a deep breath.

"Roland Brett and I had an affair, in that week, and afterwards in London. I'm carrying his child."

To her credit, Kitty looked remarkably unsurprised to hear this, and for a moment Grace wondered how much and what exactly Tom had said. But what did that matter anyway? Kitty was watching her; a sympathetic, sad look on her face.

"_Had _an affair?" she asked her, sounding surprised, "Is it over?"

"I think it has to be," she replied.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want him to have to give up his child for me."

"But you're carrying his child too-…"

"I know," Grace replied, "I know. But you remember, I'm sure, how he was when Freddie died."

"Yes," Kitty told her, "I do remember, very well. But still-… Have you told him about this? That you think it has to end for this reason?"

"I tried to suggest it to him," she replied, "He wouldn't have it."

"There," Kitty told her, "So you're going to ignore what he says and make the decision for him, despite the fact it will make you both very unhappy?"

"I feel like I have to," Grace admitted, "I feel like it's the only fair thing to do."

"Well, it doesn't strike me as particularly fair," Kitty assessed, "Unless you mean to his wife. It's more than fair to her, but no one else."

Grace closed her eyes.

"I thought that at first," she admitted, "But I was made to re-examine things rather carefully. Margaret Quayle was my matron at the London."

Kitty's eyes widened.

"What?" Grace asked her.

"We never told you because we thought it would hurt your feelings," Kitty told her, "Or," she added with a smile, "That you'd put us on a charge for gross impertinence. But when we were all at 25A There was a story that you and Colonel Brett had slept together, and that was why you were matron. I think that Sister Quayle started it. I'm sure of it."

Grace was quiet.

"Flora told me, one day," Kitty explained softly. When Grace was still quiet, she continued, "I think Flora was more impressed with you than anything else, and I just didn't believe it. And Rosalie told us we shouldn't even mention you in such a way, and told us both to shut up, essentially. None of us paid much attention, we all believed in you over Sister Quayle any day."

Still, Grace said nothing. She wanted both to seethe with hatred at Margaret and forget that she existed.

"I didn't believe her," Kitty continued, seeming to weigh up her words now before she said them, "But I so easily could have done. I thought you wanted to, I thought you loved him. Maybe that's why I liked you so much, once I realised you didn't hate me you were just trying to do your job."

"I think you belong together," Kitty told her when Grace remained silent, "I think you love him now as much as you did then, more even."

And now, Grace was not replying because she was crying.

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	25. Chapter 25

The cottage hospital in the village, where Tom was the chief and sole doctor, was at the top of a slight hill. The building was small, but a new ward had been added with the aid of government money at the close of the war and there was a little garden at the back. Though the landscape exposed it to the wind, the high stone wall and trees, turning red in the autumn weather, afforded it cover, and exposure allowed it some sun light too.

It was here that Grace and Kitty sat, with Jack beside them in the pram, in two deck chairs that Tom had found for them and brought out, with the rug from Tom and Kitty's parlour settee covering Grace's legs and stomach to make absolute sure she did not get cold.

She had been here now for four days. They had not spoken openly again about what had happened between her and Roland, but she knew it was never far from anyone's thoughts. She was not sure how that made her feel, but at least here she was not obliged to hide her pregnancy from anyone and Tom had been able to examine her and assure her that everything was normal. For the most part, she had spent the days quietly with Kitty, walking, reading or trying to help with the household tasks that Kitty took on on the days when their cleaning woman did not come. She took her turn too at looking after Jack; he was a reasonably well behaved little boy- as well behaved as any child of Kitty and Tom's could be expected to be- with very dark hair and eyes.

Kitty was sitting with her eyes closed, enjoying the sunshine. Grace watched her silently. She looked very contented, and Grace felt a pang of jealousy, which was unfair of her because she had been so kind. But Grace could remember feeling that contended, and it was not long ago. And the loss of the feeling made her ache.

Kitty, though, seemed to be able to tell that something was afoot.

"What's the matter?" she asked softly, not opening her eyes.

"What?" Grace asked, surprised at the question.

"I can tell something's wrong," she told her, turning her head towards her, looking at her carefully, "You're thinking about Colonel Brett, aren't you?"

Grace did not answer for a moment. She checked that she could hear Jack's quiet, sleeping breathing from the pram.

"I miss him," she confessed, almost under her breath, "I miss him horribly. I feel like I've lost-… I don't know, an arm or-…"

Kitty looked at her sadly.

"I know," she told her gently, "I know you must hate me, sitting here with my husband and my son, saying I know how you feel. But I missed Sylvie every day, like something had been torn out of my stomach."

"Is it easier," Grace asked, curious to know, "Now that you have Jack?"

"In a way," Kitty replied, "He takes my mind off her. But he won't ever replace her, just as she could never replace him."

"I know," Grace replied, "I know what you mean."

They were both quiet for a few moments.

"It's Saturday tomorrow," Grace remarked, "I wonder if Roland will go to London."

"Why would he do that?" Kitty asked.

"Saturday was when I had my leave," Grace replied, "And he would meet me."

"Every Saturday?"

"Yes," Grace told her, "The hours at the London were long but they were generous with their leave. That's probably what's made me end up pregnant," she added ruefully, and Kitty smiled at her honesty.

"In which case, I think I'd probably go to London," she told her impishly, "If I was him and you hadn't told him you've run away."

"I haven't run away," Grace told her sharply.

"No, you've just done a very good impression of it."

Kitty's tone was softly insubordinate. Grace wanted very much to be cross with her, but her words rang just a little too true to allow it. She gave a heavy sigh.

It was Kitty watching her now.

"Do you want to know what my clearest memory of Colonel Brett is?" she asked.

"Yes!" Grace replied immediately. She wanted to hear about him, though it hurt to talk herself.

"Apart from how happy he was at our wedding, and how tired he looked any time someone mention that his wife had chosen not to come," she told her, "It was at the concert Flora arranged to raise all of our morale. And we were terrible. Or rather, we were terrible at first, and then somehow it all came together, and he was in the audience. And he looked so happy, and so pleased, and encouraging. You weren't there-…" she remembered, "Where were you?"

Grace sighed again.

"That was the day that I found out that my first lover had died."

Kitty's eyes widened in shock.

"You remember Major Ballard?" she asked, "The Major of the Punjabi regiment. He was Amar's major. He told me that he had fallen."

"I didn't know," Kitty told her, after a moment's silence.

"Of course you didn't," Grace said gently, "Though I have to say, I'm surprised Margaret Quayle didn't let you in on my little secret. Did you ever wonder why I went out of my way to try to help you with Sylvie?"

"Yes, of course I did," Kitty replied, and then, stopping short, drew a sharp breath. There was a pause. "This has happened before, hasn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, it has."

Kitty was quiet.

"And, like before, I've lost the father," Grace murmured softly, "I'm just praying that this time I don't lose the child as well."

Kitty's eyes were swimming, but she managed to steel herself.

"Grace," she told her firmly, "There's something you should know. Tom said I probably shouldn't tell you until he gets here, but I feel like I should tell you this now. You haven't lost the father, not this time. You see-…"

She broke off, seeing the back door of the hospital open. Tom stepped out and waved up to them. And then another man followed him. It was-…

"Well," Kitty told her, seeing the look on Grace's face as she laid eyes on Roland, "You can see for yourself."

For a moment she could not speak. She could not take her eyes off him as he followed Tom up the inclining path to where they were sitting.

"Did you tell him I was here?" Grace asked her.

"Well, we thought-…"

Did you?" asked Grace levelly.

"Yes, we telephoned him."

The men had drawn level with them now, they were standing before them. Still, her eyes had not left him.

"Hello, Grace."

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	26. Chapter 26

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Automatically, Kitty stood up to give Roland her seat.

"You don't have to go," Roland insisted, turning to both of them, and Grace did too, feeling quite alarmed at the situation that had sprung out of nowhere and taken her by such surprise.

Kitty smiled at him.

"Oh, I think we do," she replied, smiling, "You wouldn't be here otherwise. We'll see you back at the house. Come on, Tom, help me get this young man down the hill."

Tom smiled at them both too, gently manoeuvring the pram down the slope and towards the back door of the hospital. Sitting down in the chair beside Grace's, Roland watched them go. Neither spoke until the whole of the Gillan family was indoors.

"They make lovely parents," Roland said at last.

"Yes," Grace agreed, still watching the hospital, at first unable to take her eyes off him, she was now almost unable to look at him, "They do."

She could feel his eyes on her face, scrutinising her thoroughly, trying to read an answer in her expression. She willed her eyes not to well with tears.

"Why did you go, Grace?" he asked her at last, and his voice sounded wrought, stretched to the point of breaking, "Why didn't you at least tell me you were going to leave?"

"You would have stopped me," she replied quietly.

"Of course I would have stopped you!" he half-exclaimed, "All the way up here, I've been wracking my brains, trying to think of anything that I could have done to make you want to leave-…"

"I didn't want to," she assured him, "I felt I had to. You didn't-…"

"Perhaps I should have done more," he wondered aloud, "I should have been honest with Hetty straight away, and to hell with the consequences-…"

"That's exactly what I don't want, Roland," she told him, "You did everything you could have done. More than I could have possibly asked of you. I can't bare to be the reason for you losing Alexander. I'm sorry, but I can't."

"If I'm going to lose Alexander, then I've already lost him."

"What do you mean" she asked him, not understanding what he had just said at all.

"I left almost as soon as I could to come here," he told her, "As soon as Kitty telephoned, I sent Maisy to find out when the next train was. But it wasn't for two hours, and I used them to write a letter. I left it on Alexander's desk. I told him everything. I told him that I know he is another man's son, but that I love him as if he was mine. I told him that I love you, that I've never loved his mother, and that you're going to have my child. That I'm sorry if my actions put any of his plans in jeopardy, but my first responsibility is to you and to our child because I've put you in a much more vulnerable position than I have. I've made myself clear to him. If he chooses to break off with me then so be it, I was the cause, not you."

She was silent, trying to take in what he had said.

"And you don't know how he took it?" she asked him.

"No, I don't," he replied, "He was out with Evelyn and he hadn't come home by the time I had to go."

Grace was still quiet.

"Naturally, the thought of becoming estranged from my son gives me no pleasure at all," he told her, "But now you know I am completely willing to do it, for you."

"I know," she replied softly.

"And now I know I should have done things differently," he told her, "As it's happened anyway that everyone has found out about us, I should have just told them from the off, I love you, Grace, perhaps I shouldn't have even gone home at the end of the war, I should have just stayed with you. I should have done more to show you that I loved you, and then you would never have gone. But I've put it right now, or at least I've tried."

"You couldn't have done more," she told him earnestly, leaning forwards in her chair, leaning towards him, "I know you love me. I'm so sorry I left, I should have thought more carefully, but I was frightened."

"I understand," he murmured, his hand covering hers.

She took hold of it, laced their fingers together, squeezed his hand tightly.

"I love you so much, Roland," she told him quietly, releasing his hand and cupping his face between her palms, stretching forwards and kissing him. His hands touched her sides gently, supporting her.

"I know I shouldn't have listened to Margaret," she murmured softly when they broke apart.

"Margaret Quayle?" he asked, "No, Grace, I'm sensing you shouldn't have. I don't think I even need to ask what she said about me."

Grace sniffed apologetically.

"I know that now," she assured him, "Kitty told me that during the war she started a rumour at the hospital that you and I had slept together and that was the reason that she was passed over for matron."

"It couldn't have been that you were the superior nurse, and may I say human being, now, could it?" he asked lightly, and she smiled.

Her thumbs stroked softly along his cheeks, her eyes drank in the sight of his face. Still, she found it difficult to believe that he had come for her like this, he had sought her out, he had brought her back to him. He was here. The man she loved was here in front of her, when she had thought he was gone forever.

"I wish we had been together during the war," she admitted, "I wanted it then. I wish I'd known it could have been like this. Nothing could have stopped me then."

He took hold of her wrist softly in his hand, turned it gently inwards towards his mouth, planted a soft kiss of her skin.

"I know exactly what you mean," he told her, "I wish we had too. I wish I'd spent my life with you."

"You will from now on," she promised him, "I'm not leaving again."

"Good."

He kissed her knuckles swiftly, tugging at her hand a little.

"Come on," he told her, "Let's go back to Tom and Kitty's. It's alright," he added, "They know I'm staying."

"They don't have another bedroom," she remarked, "There's only their room, the room I'm staying in and the nursery."

"Between you and me," he told her, smiling a little wryly as he tucked her arm into his to help her down the hill, "I don't think they imagined needing a spare bedroom was going to be a problem."

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	27. Chapter 27

**I may become even more unreliable over the next few days because where I'm living at the moment doesn't have internet and because term is about to start. Thank you for being such lovely readers.**

They lay together in their bed in Grace's room at Tom and Kitty's house. It was nearly morning. Amongst other things, they had talked all night. More than the need for separate bedrooms, they seemed to have forgone the need for pyjamas as well.

"Promise me you'll stay in bed and sleep today," he asked of her quietly, stroking her back, "It was selfish of me to keep you up all need when you need your rest."

"What, and have Tom and Kitty giving me knowing look when I come down for tea?" she asked him, "I don't think so. And I wouldn't have said you were selfish," running her hand appreciatively over his chest, "Quite the reverse."

He smiled, kissing her forehead.

"They know we've been in here together all night," he reminded her, "They're going to be too much to bear anyway."

"True," she acknowledged, "Midday, then?" she asked, "And you stay with me and sleep too?"

"Very well, that sounds fair," he told her, "And I could do with a few hours too. I'm going to need it soon enough."

"And why is that?" she asked, a lazy, and indeed rather knowing, smile spreading across her lips, "Could it be to do with what you've got in mind for us tonight?"

"Well, that too," he told her gently, "But I was thinking-… Grace, there's something else we should talk about."

Over the night, in between making love, it had seemed that they had talked about everything. Where they would get married, where they would live, if they might have more children, and what names did they like. But if there was something else Roland thought they needed to discuss, then they probably must.

"What is it?" she asked.

"We can't stay here forever," he told her, "I know you know that, and I know you don't want to, but at this rate we could so easily end up doing that to put off what we're scared will happen when we have to go and sort everything out."

She saw what he meant, what he said was very true. And he was right, when they had talked last night it had almost seemed too hypothetical, as if neither had fully grasped the real time scale that would need to unfold.

"I know," she told him, "I think you're right."

"I want to go home," he told her, "Back to my wife's house, that is. Briefly. I think there are things that we all; you, me, Hetty, probably Alexander and Evelyn too, must all talk about together, face to face. There are arrangements that need to be made, and I feel I owe everyone an explanation."

"I understand," she told him, "Are you sure you want me there? Will I not make it more difficult for Hetty."

He paused for a moment.

"I would rather have you there," he told her, "But that's purely for my own sake. Unless you don't want to, that is. I'd rather die than cause you any strain that could harm the baby."

"I think it would cause me more strain to stay here and wonder what was happening," she told him, "And I don't want to feel like I'm a coward by leaving the difficult part to you. If you owe an apology, then I think I do too."

"You shouldn't have to apologise, Grace," he told her, "It was I who fell in love with you while I was married to someone else. You were free to love whomever you wanted."

"I'm not sure Hetty will see it like that," she replied, then smiled, "I'm not even sure I do. But thank you for your very redemptive portrayal of my morals."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," he told her, kissing her forehead.

"Does Hetty know where you are now?" she asked him suddenly, realising she did not know.

"I told her I was going up north for a little while," he told her, "Well, it was true. I like to go to the Northumberland Coast sometimes. My grandfather lived there and I used to spend my school holidays there when I was a boy. She assumed that was where I was going. The sea is warmest in September."

"Would you like to live there?" she asked him suddenly.

"You know," he replied thoughtfully, "I rather think I would. I don't know why I didn't think to say so last night."

"Because we were thinking we'd have to be close to London," she told him, "But, you know, I think we can probably get on without it. It's not as if we'd be far off Edinburgh in the North and that would do just as well."

"Yes, you're right," she could tell the idea had excited him, his eyes lit up and he talked enthusiastically in spite of his tiredness, "And there would be fewer of my old acquaintances to bump into and listen to their insinuations about our situation."

She tried not to shudder at the thought.

"And we'd be quite close to Tom and Kitty," she told him, "We could come and see them and bring our child to play with Jack. Oh, Roland, let's live in the North by the seaside."

"Alright, my love," he told her, "The north it is."

She smiled.

"I'm excited to get started," she told him quietly, "To get a house, and to start our lives."

"You're right," he agreed, "I feel like they haven't been able to begin until now."

"We just have to get this visit over with."

"I know," he replied, "I'm not looking forward to it very much either."

There was a short silence.

"The sooner we do it, the sooner it will be over," he stated.

"You're right," she agreed, somewhat reluctantly.

"Let's go this week," he decided.

"Alright," she agreed.

He saw the frown that had formed across her brow at the thought. His lips brushed the skin of her forehead softly.

"Try not to think about it," he told her gently, his arms slipping back around her and holding her tightly, "Try to get some rest."

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	28. Chapter 28

"How do you want to do this?"

They sat beside one another. Grace was wearing a new coat, which Roland had insisted on buying her in Edinburgh. He has said he didn't want to have to worry about her growing out of it during the winter. It fastened with a belt at the middle so that she could alter the size of its waist as her pregnancy progressed. She smiled at the memory of him in the shop, he thought of everything. That and the fact that she was trying to forget that she had a sense that he was being especially generous now that he still had the means to be generous.

"Hmm?" she asked, having been lost in her thoughts, only half-hearing him.

"How do you think we should tell them?" he asked her again, adding, with a gentle smile on his face, "I seem to remember you were always instinctively more diplomatic than I was," his hand covered hers gently, "I suspect Margaret Quayle gave you years of practice."

She smiled in reply.

"Her and everyone else," she replied wryly, and then, seriously, "I'm not sure there is a diplomatic way to tell a wife that you're pregnant with her husband's child."

He let out a thoughtful noise, cast somewhere between a laugh and a hum.

"You're probably right about that," he told her, "But I wasn't meaning that I think you should tell her, it's me who owes her the explanation. Or if you owe her an explanation of your conduct, it's of your conduct over the last few weeks, not the last twenty or so years."

"I'm not sure there's a diplomatic way to tell your wife that another woman is pregnant with your child either," she told him.

"No, I know," he replied, "You're right."

They were quiet for a moment.

"I want to go with you," she told him softly, a second later, "If you'll let me, that is, when you tell Hetty. It's just that I want to feel like I'm beside you all the time in this. If you want to talk to Hetty privately, I completely understand though."

"I want you to be there," he replied gently, "I have nothing to hide from you Grace. I would have asked you, only I didn't want you to feel as if I was making you-… I don't want to cause you any strain," his fingers wrapped together with hers and they clasped each other's hands tightly. Their eyes met.

"We do this together," she told him quietly.

"Yes," he agreed.

Leaning forwards gently, they were both leaning in towards each other, they kissed each other's lips softly, very nearly chastely. She saw him smiling at her with a funny look in his eye as they leant apart.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"I was only thinking," he told her, "That this is already marriage, as it should be, what we have."

She smiled at him, sincerely. But still, even in this moment of contentment with him, she found that she was trying to press a good deal of worry out of her mind. But he seemed to be able to tell.

"What are you thinking?" he enquired gently, "You look worried."

"I am a little," she confessed.

"What about, my love?" he asked her.

"A few things," she explained, sighing, "Roland, I need to ask you a straight question."

"Of course," he replied, "I'd like to think you can ask me anything you like."

"It's about money."

"Even so."

"Are we going to have any?" she asked him bluntly, "I know we've said we'll live in the North and that that will makes things less expensive. And I wouldn't care, I wouldn't care at all if you were only divorcing in order to marry me. But with the baby-… we can't manage, if we're destitute. Can we? Not easily."

He looked at her carefully.

"Do you imagine for a moment that I would be willing to marry you if I didn't think I could support all three of us comfortably?" he asked her levelly, "Of course," he pre-empted her next question, "I have no intention of not doing right by Hetty. But of course, Grace, of course, I will make sure we have enough. If I have to work every hour of the day in order to do it."

She smiled at him, relaxing a little, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand.

"That's not to say I don't need to have a few of the details explained to me," he admitted, "I was hoping to ask to Alexander about it."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked him.

"Quite frankly, no," he replied, "But he obviously understands the legal side of things a lot better than I do. And I would like to be able to speak to him in person too, privately. To assure him that if there's anything I can do to make things right with him, I will do it. Within reason, of course," he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it quickly, "You are my main priority."

She smiled at him for a moment.

"I love you," she told him softly.

"As I love you," he replied.

She leant her head against his shoulder.

"I just want this over with," she confessed, "And then it can just be us."

"I know," he agreed softly, "I know."

He held her hand again.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, "Aside from rueing every mile closer we drawn to the place."

"Reasonably well, actually," she told him.

"No nausea, no fatigue?"

"A little tiredness, I wouldn't say it was fatigue, exactly."

He made an unconvinced sound, but aside from that he did not comment.

"You worry about me too much," she told him softly, "That's not a complaint, exactly. But it makes me worried about you, which I'm sure is not the effect you were intending."

He was quiet for a moment.

"Can I tell you why I worry about you so much?" he asked her.

"I like to think you can tell me anything," she told him in return, a little smile playing for a moment of her lips.

"It may upset you."

She steeled herself, but nevertheless replied; "Even so."

"Your last child, you-… You never told me whether you had-…whether it was a miscarriage or-… later on."

She was quiet for a moment, considering his concern, wondering how he had remained silent on the subject for so long.

"A stillbirth," she told him softly, her voice staying steady.

"I see."

They were quiet for a few moments.

"You see," he told her softly, "I'm terrified of being the cause that makes you suffer like that again. That is why I worry. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"Yes," she murmured. And now he voice shook. And he heard it.

"Oh, my love," he murmured, his arm wrapping around her shoulder and pulling her into his embrace, "My love, come here."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	29. Chapter 29

**I'm so so sorry for the delay (term has started). **

The trepidation at the house's grandeur that Grace felt upon her first visit was nothing to what she felt upon her second.

The footman opened the front door for them and took their coats, and Roland's hat. As he went to put them away, they were left briefly alone in the hallway.

"Are you alright?" he asked her quietly, "You don't have to do this, you know. You can leave it to me."

She shook her head fervently.

"No," she reminded him, "I'm alright. We do this together."

He nodded.

"Alright, my love," he told her softly.

Gently, almost timidly, he reached his hand out for hers.

"There'll be gossip downstairs anyway," he told her, as the sound of the footman's footsteps began to return on the wooden floor around the corner, "I think I need you to keep me steady."

She nodded swiftly, clasping his hand in hers, wrapping their fingers together.

They turned simultaneously to face the footman as he returned. She did not know what they were expecting. Her heart was hammering. To his credit, the young man handled it rather well; paused for a second in surprise but then recovered himself and went ahead of them up the stairs. Lady Brett, he told them, was in her sitting room.

Roland and Grace exchanged a look. Perhaps the young fellow simply could not believe his own eyes, Roland's look suggested, and Grace tried not to let herself break out into a smile. Now would be a singularly inappropriate time to smile.

And then they were in Hetty's sitting room. The door was closed behind them. And they were holding hands. And she was standing to receive them, slowing in her movements as she saw their joined hands. She stood there for a moment, quite simply staring at them. But then she recovered, with just as much grace and composure as the footman hand. That was what, Grace supposed, they were all used to doing in this house when confronted with something that would have elsewhere been scandalous.

"Hetty, sit down," Roland told her calmly, "There's something we need to talk about."

She remained standing.

"I'd never guess what that would be," she remarked, glancing at Grace and then back to Roland.

There was a moment of silence.

"When did this happen?" she enquired of both of them.

"Almost as soon as Grace first arrived here," he told her, "On the night of Alex's party."

Hetty hummed her understanding.

"I had wondered," she told him conversationally, "I notice you made no mention of that in your letter to him."

"You read my letter to him?" he asked her incredulously, taken aback for a moment.

"Roland, you slept with another woman," she returned, with a quickness Grace could only admire, though the comment made her wince, "He left it open on his desk. He wasn't about, and I went in there to look for him, and found it instead. And I know," Hetty continued, "That I'm no means innocent on the fidelity score myself. But at least allow me a touch of indignation at not having realised that you were playing that game too. Really, Roland, I'm as much annoyed at my own naivety as I am with you. Or you, Miss Carter," she added, turning to Grace, "Really, who would I be to judge you?"

Grace could not say anything. She did not know what to say. Nothing before in her life had come close to preparing her for this.

Another silence.

"So you know about the child, then?" Grace finally managed to ask her, "If you read the letter to Alex?"

Hetty fixed her with a level look.

"Yes, Miss Carter, I do know."

Another silence.

"I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to tell you first, Hetty," Roland told her.

"You tried," she replied fairly, "You didn't make me read that letter."

"No," he agreed.

"Though I am a little hurt that you chose to let him know before you told me," she replied.

"He stands to lose out because of my actions," he replied steadily, "You may marry whomever you wish, once we divorce. And as you're aware now, I think we need to," his voice quivered a little, but he pressed on, "I insist upon it."

"I agree with you," she replied, "Don't look so worried, Roland. In itself, I think our divorcing would be the best idea we've had in a long while. And I think, if the last, however many years it has been, have taught me anything it is that I'm not for marriage and marriage is not for me. After you, Roland, I'll never marry again."

Another pause. Hetty smiled, almost coyly, looking only at Roland.

"I wish we could have made each other happy, Roland."

"We didn't," Roland answered stiffly, "That's all there is."

"Yes," she agreed sadly, "I suppose you're right about that. The pair of you will be a lot better off together, with your child."

Roland's hand tightened in Grace's. She felt the only thing bringing her through this was his presence beside her. Somewhat ironically, as that had been what had caused this absurd, perplexing mess.

"We will be happy," Roland told her, "We belong together. I don't say that to rub salt in the wound-… You know I wouldn't have been unfaithful for less."

"I know," Hetty replied, "I never understood you."

"And I mean to be fair, Hetty," he told her, "As fair as possible, in the-… legal matters."

"Of course."

"With your permission, I'll write a letter to the solicitor tomorrow, I'm a little tired now."

"Ah," Hetty's head tilted back a little and she gave a little sigh, "You see, Roland, you absolutely will not be contacting the solicitors tomorrow. Not with my permission, any way."

"Why ever not?" he asked.

"Because I strove for months over Alex and Evelyn," Hetty replied, "You've no idea how many teas with her ghastly mother I sat through, how much bowing and scraping and fibbing and glossing. No, you won't spoil this wedding for me, or for them. We will not divorce until they are married."

Roland looked appalled.

"But, Grace-…"

"I'm sorry Roland, but I did factor in the inconvenient arrival of your illegitimate offspring when we set the date. I'm sure I can be forgiven for that."

**Please review if you have the time.**


	30. Chapter 30

They both sat in his study. He sat in the chair behind his desk and she in the armchair by the fire. He had made them both tea, but neither of them was drinking it. They had been silent for a long time now. They had agreed, all things considered, that it could have all gone a lot worse than it eventually had done; but still, things remained a long way from perfect. She let out a quiet, discontented sigh. Things should be perfect; she had him here, physically with her, she had his assurances that it would remain this way. She shouldn't need anything else. Still, it consoled her that he too seemed dissatisfied; it made her feel less guilty. His brow was creased in a frown; his head rested against his hand. Their eyes met and he gave her a sad smile, letting out a sigh of his own and sitting up a little straighter.

"I wish I knew where Alex was," he told her, "I know he's probably very angry with me, but I would almost feel better if I could see how much."

"I know," she replied softly, "I know what you mean."

She thought of Evelyn and the discussion they had had in Evelyn's room, what felt like half a lifetime ago. That certainly didn't help the feeling of guilt. She had been selfish, and she knew it. They had both been selfish together, for each other. Perhaps she ought to go up and talk to her, if she would see her at all.

"I just wish I knew where they both were," he repeated in distress. He was obviously worried.

"Has Evelyn gone too?" she asked him.

"No one has seen either of them," Roland replied, "Maisy said that Hetty thinks they might have gone to Evelyn's parents, on the pretence of visiting, but that she doesn't want to ring them up and let on that all hell has broken loose here."

"No," Grace agreed, "I don't imagine she does. I don't think they'd take kindly to it."

He gave a quiet, affirmative sigh.

"At least they're safe, if that's what they've done," she told him, "They won't want for anything."

"Except a bit of privacy, I imagine," he told her ruefully, and she smiled, thinking of what she knew of Evelyn's parents, "No, you're quite right. They'll be well looked after."

She looked at his concerned expression and her eyes swelled with sadness.

"I'm sorry I've caused all this trouble, Roland," she told him gently.

He turned to her more abruptly now, his look of concern fading; his distraction seeming to abate as he focused his attention on her.

"Don't be sorry, Grace," he told her firmly, "Don't be sorry for a single minute. At the end of the day, I wanted you to cause all of this trouble. That sounds absurd, but it's true; I needed you to and I'm profoundly grateful that you did. Yes, I wish my son was here, but I would never wish you away to bring him back. I would never wish you away, Grace. Alright?"

She nodded carefully, smiling at him.

"I know," she told him, "I know, of course I do. You're doing so much for me."

There was a moment's pause.

"I love you," she told him quietly.

"I know," he replied, "I love you too."

Their eyes met, and they enhanced what felt like the first smile that day that had not been tinged with sadness.

"What are we going to do now?" she asked, "Until the wedding?"

"What we always intended to do," he replied, "I'm going to file for a divorce without Hetty's permission."

He caught the look of surprise on her face and he tilted his head gently to the side.

"I have nothing left to lose by doing this now, Grace," he told her, "Alexander's gone. His good opinion and his happiness were all I truly cared about in this. It seems I have lost any sway I may have once had over them. I don't see why I should also subject you to the disgrace of being an unmarried mother when I could avoid it."

She was quiet for a moment, not quite knowing what to say.

"I would suffer disgrace gladly, you know," she told him at last, "For you and our child."

"I know," he told her, "And that is precisely why you shouldn't have to."

She felt a warmth growing in her limbs, a softness at his words. He was still maintaining eye contact, watching her closely. She knew that look.

"Roland," she began slowly, "Would it be very wrong of us to just-… slope off, for a few hours?"

"And make love, you mean?"

"Of course."

He smiled.

"Yes, probably. Very wrong. Let's go."

She let out a soft laugh, standing, making for the door. He did so too, but there was a knock at the door before either of them could reach it.

He cast her an exasperated look at her before calling, in a somewhat strained voice, "Come in."

It was Hetty.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," she told them, "But I thought you'd like to know that Alex and Evelyn have come back."

Roland and Grace exchanged a relieved look.

"That is good to hear," he admitted, "Thank you for coming up to tell me."

"There's something else."

There was an edge in Hetty's voice that Grace was not sure what to make of. She and Roland exchanged another look. Evidently, he was not certain either.

"What's that?" he asked her.

Hetty was smiling.

"I think they want to tell you in person. Here, they're outside."

She stood to the side and Evelyn and Alex followed her through the door.

"Alexander," Roland looked at his son with a mixture of relief, and intense surprise, "Where have you been?"

Both Alexander and Evelyn were, Grace noticed, apparently wearing their smart clothes.

"We've been to Oxford, Father," Alexander replied, "At the registry office."

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	31. Chapter 31

The door of Roland's bedroom closed behind them at last. She took off her cardigan, laid it on the bed- she was a little warm having just climbed the stairs and the fire had been lit in the grate- turned back towards him. He was leaning against the door, watching her carefully. They were both smiling, and none with the slightest trace of sadness.

"Those two," she murmured at last what they were both thinking, "Fancy running off like that."

"I know," he replied, still leaning against the door, the smile widening just a fraction on his lips, "I'm so damn proud of them."

"So am I."

He stepped towards her, opening his arms, reaching for her, engulfing her body in his as they met. She wound her arms around his back, clutching his shoulders, burying her face in his neck.

"It's over," he whispered, "We're finally together and everyone knows."

"Did you talk to Hetty?" she asked him, leaning back a little to look at his face.

"I did," he replied, "And it's all agreed. All we're waiting for now is for the settlement to be finalised. And then we can get married."

She smiled irrepressibly, stretching up a little to give him a kiss on the mouth. He responded enthusiastically, his arms tightening around her.

"Oh, my sweetheart," he murmured, "I've waiting for this for so long," his voice shook a little as he spoke, "You cannot imagine how happy I am in this moment. This is-…"

"The best moment of your life," she replied softly, "I know," she assured him before he had the chance to nod, "Of mine too."

He kissed her again.

"It's just us now," he told her quietly, "You and me and our baby. Or babies. If that's what you want."

She smiled.

"That would be lovely," she told him, "Not that I've really got as far as thinking about that yet," she was quiet for a second, "It's like there's an enormous weight gone off my shoulders, but also out of my head too. My thoughts are suddenly so much more real."

"I know," he told her softly, his thumb brushing the side of her face, "But I'm rapidly coming to the conclusion that that's because everything I've been hankering after for the last few years has actually happened."

She grinned.

"I love you," she told him, "I love you so much."

Murmuring words of love for her, he scooped her into his arms, placing her carefully on his bed.

Lying on his side beside her, he kissed her forehead, running his hand down her side.

"Let's leave tomorrow," he told her, "Let's go and look for somewhere that can be ours."

She smiled up at him.

"Alright," she agreed.

Tilting her chin up a little, her mouth met his and he embraced her.

"Sweetheart," he whispered to her between kisses, gently undoing the buttons at her neck.

She nuzzled into the warmth of his touch, the warmth of the firelit air. He graced kisses over her face, her neck, her collarbone.

"Oh, my love."

She emitted her sigh into the gasping sparks in the grate. Tenderly, he divested her of her blouse, undoing the catch of her brassiere and cupping her breasts gently in his hands. He knew they had been a little sore of late and touched her with a softness that kindled an altogether different ache within her. She caught ahold of his neck, pulling him closer to her, slipping her hand under his collar, making short and haphazard work of his shirt.

He lavished her breasts with careful kisses, working his hand under the waistband of her skirt. Gasping, she clutched his face. Everything seemed somehow heightened. Her feelings, both physical and emotional, were absurdly vivid and it was thrilling, particularly when he was touching her like this.

"Oh, darling," she managed to murmur, "This is perfect."

He leant away from her for a second, looking carefully down at her face, examining her features with great care.

"Good," he replied, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead before allowing his hand to work away again.

She was impatient, though, in spite of the pleasure he was giving her, to feel his skin on hers, to be with him.

"Darling," she murmured, "Help me-…. Take my skirt off."

He obliged her, and removed his trousers and underpants while he did so. He lay back down beside her, touching the bare skin between her thighs, drawing his thumb in lazy gentle circles, making her sigh again. Her vision now was almost hazy, her eyes half-closed with lust, but the feelings so strong and so clear. All was warm light and the tender heat of his touch, but still, it wasn't enough, she wanted more.

"Roland, I want you."

She felt his fingers slip inside her wetness and she gave a groan of contentment. He was making sure she was ready, she knew it, but still she was so so impatient.

"Darling, now," she gasped throatily as he pressed down on her nub with his thumb, "-… want you."

Positioning himself between her legs, he kissed her lips and pushed his hips forward so that he was inside her.

"Yes," she moaned, "Oh, Roland."

Closing her eyes, she burned her face in his neck again, but she felt his hand on her cheek, easing her back against the bed.

"I want to see you, Grace," he murmured.

She lay back as still as she could, for him, so that he could watch her. She could not imagine what she looked like through his eyes. Abandoned, tainted by the colour of the fire. Carrying his child. She looked at him in return, at the dark of his hair shining in the low light as he moved. He was the best thing in her life, the best man she had ever known, the best-…

The thought stopped in her head, and she moaned loudly as sensation finally won out.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	32. Chapter 32

**So this is it, the last chapter. You have been such lovely lovely readers, I've loved every last minute of writing this, I can't thank you all enough.**

**One year later….**

There were footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Grace appeared in the doorway of the small bedroom where he had been leaning over the crib.

"Roland, have you seen Alice's white blanket?"

"It's here," he replied, crossing to the clothes horse by the fire, picking it up and holding it out for her.

"Oh, good. Thank you. Is it dry? I don't want to give her if it's not but I don't think she'll sleep without it."

He smiled, running it between his hands, checking it.

"Yes, I think you're right," he agreed, "But it's fine. It's dry."

"Good," she replied, "Hang on a second," she turned towards the other crib at the other side of the room, "I'll take it in a moment, I'll put her down first."

Quietly, she settled Alice down, leaning over the side of the crib, planting a kiss on her little soft blonde head.

"How is Julia?" she asked him, taking the blanket from him, settling it gently down over Alice and smoothing the creases out.

"She's fine," he told her, "She's already asleep."

"Oh, good," she told him, "That will make everything easier. You too, my love," she murmured, leaning over a little towards Alice again, "You go to sleep, sweetheart."

As she straightened up, she caught him watching her over her shoulder. A smile played on his lips, and she smiled back.

"Open the window a little bit," she told him quietly.

"They won't be cold?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"The fire is still going. And when the sea's calm the sound calms them down and I think they sleep more quickly."

He did as she asked, propping the window open on the catch. She smiled her thanks and reached out her hand for him. He took it quickly and they stole from the room, leaving the door ever so slightly ajar.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her quietly, when they were on the landing of the stairs.

"Tired," she told him, "Happy."

"I'm the same," he told her, "Should we go downstairs and I'll make you some tea?"

"Have you started the fire in our bedroom?"

"Yes."

"Then, we won't," she told him softly, "Let's just go and lie down for a little while."

She lead him into their bedroom. Fully clothed, they sank down together on top of the covers. His arms encircled her, held her to him. He planted a kiss behind her ear, the end of her short hair flicking in his face, tickling his nose.

"I love you so much, Grace," he told her softly.

She craned her neck a little to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"I love you too," she told him.

He rested his forehead against her hair.

"You're incredible," he told her quietly.

She hummed in something like assent, or disbelief. His thumb smoothed down over her arm.

"You are," he affirmed, "You're amazing, the way you take care of those little girls."

"So are you," she told him quietly, and then, "I worry sometimes if I'm doing it properly."

"What do you mean?" he asked her.

"I don't know," she replied, "Motherhood?"

"Of course you are," he told her gently, "I've never seen anyone do it better. I mean it," he repeated, "You're incredible."

She let out a quiet sigh of contentment.

"Thank you," she told him softly.

There was a moment's silence.

"Is it just me, or is Julia's hair even darker than in was before?" he asked.

"Oh definitely," she replied, "It's just like yours. Alice looks bald next to her because her hair is so light."

"That will stop in time," he told her.

"I know," she replied, "My mother said that mine was the same when I was little."

Another pause.

"I'm so proud of them," he told her softly, "Of them, and of you. Of you all."

"I know," she told him again.

"I like having children in the house again," he told her, "I'd forgotten what it was like."

"You know Kitty wrote to me today," she told him, "They're expecting another."

"Are they?" he asked, "That will be wonderful."

"Yes it will," she agreed, "We should go and see them. Or they should come to us. Either way. Before the baby is born."

"Yes," he agreed, "Tell them, when you reply to her. Tell them to come to us. We owe them a stay."

"Yes, we do rather," she replied, smiling a little ruefully. And then, "I'll tell her."

"Good," he agreed, letting out a long sigh. "I could quite easily fall asleep now, just like this."

"Don't let me keep you," she told him lightly.

She heard him laugh quietly.

"You keep me forever, Grace."

She leant back against the warmth of his body, smiling at the fire.

"Goodnight, my love."

**End.**

**One last review would be lovely. **


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